Illusions
by Impetuous257
Summary: The Xindi reptilians finish their bio-weapon early, humanity is obliterated before they are even known. How has the universe fared without them? And can the Enterprise fix the damage, before it is too late?
1. Chapter 1

He stumbled down the corridor, mind numb as he tried to process the information, to no avail. An attack on earth, seven million dead, innocents dead, lizzie, dead. His face looked neutral to passersby, giving no indication whatsoever of the turmoil shrouded by his blank gaze. It couldn't be possible, it just-, just couldn't! He half expected himself to wake up any moment now, to look at his chronometer and sigh at another sleepless night. He'd pull on his uniform and try to get a couple more hours work done. But no such occurrence was forthcoming.

He looked up to realize his mindless walk through the ship had lead him to engineering, figures, he's always come here, whether happy or sad this has been his sanctuary for as long as he could remember. It was where he felt the most at home, his quarters were just a place he could crash, a temporary seclusion from the rest of the world when it was necessary. But this, the comforting hum of the warp engine, the beeps and dings of all the machinery, and even the voices, crewmen going about their jobs with cheerful enthusiasm. But that would be ending soon, as of now only the senior officers had been informed, but it wouldn't be too long before word spread, and then the official announcement would be made, and that's when the cheeriness died.

The numbness ended, and that's when he broke. He gripped onto a wall for support, leaning closer and closer as he sobbed, finally falling to the ground and the sounds became more pronounced. He vaguely recognized some voices around him, blurred figures crowded his vision, before the welcome bliss of darkness took him…

"You sure you okay boss?" An anxious Anna Hess hovered over him, it was unspoken that Trip wouldn't be leaving this room without some kind of explanation. "I can call sickbay if you want Sir". That was absolutely the last thing he wanted right now, to be subjected to some kind of mental evaluation on whether he was stable or whatever. No, he'd take his chances here, in the overstuffed chair behind his desk in his office. Along with a lieutenant who was loyal to a fault.

"It's okay Anna, really, I'm already feeling better." He offered a weak smile that didn't register beyond his mouth. He was met with an even deeper frown, "Charles, if you don't give me something plausible in the next two minutes I'm gonna comm Dr. Phlox". Ahh Dammit, she'd called him Charles, Hess was the only person who still called him that, and she only did when she was dead serious. He sighed, it was gonna get out sooner or later, and it wouldn't make a difference if Hess knew as long as he ordered her to keep quiet for a while.

A barely audible sigh escaped his lips, he could feel his eyes watering again as he considered how to break it to her. NO! He wouldn't cry, not again, he-, he had to learn to deal with this, Earth couldn't afford him any screw-ups. Trip decided to just get it over with before he changed his mind, "there's been an attack" he whispered, voice distraught, head staring down at the table. His gaze into the wood was unblinking, unmoving, completely inactive except for the small tear that trickled down his cheek.

Hess tensed at those words, "Sir?" she prompted.

"On earth Anna, seven million, seven million dea-"

He couldn't finish the word, just didn't have the will power to accept it. He looked up, Hess had visibly paled, just standing there, mouth slightly agape. She fumbled to a chair, dropping into it, and so they sat there, both staring into a wooden desk as the clock ticked by…

Jonathan Archer prided himself on many things, one of which was his ability to keep a level head. Be it during an attack, an insubordinate crewmember, or a multitude of other strenuous situations he had to deal with as a starship captain. But right now, maintaining his dignity was the farthest thing from his mind. He wanted to find the bastards that did this, track them down to the edge of the universe if need be. He wouldn't rest until they had paid for the seven million humans they had slaughtered, innocent civilians vaporized by an unprovoked attack.

The comm unit beeped, an unnecessarily hard smack remedied the irritating noise. "Archer" he growled. "Captain its Admiral Forrest, he says it's urgent." The communications officer had a slight tremor in her voice, no doubt a large portion of the crew did as well. "Transfer it to my quarters". "Yes Sir" came Hoshi's response. As the Captain sat down at his console, a grimace crossed his features, he didn't even know what the bastards were called…


	2. Chapter 2

"They're called the Xindi Jon, but that's basically all we know."

Archer was barely holding onto his self-control, a quivering thread was all that remained between giving in to his fury. Once again he found himself asking the same question: Why were we attacked? This time it was followed with: seven million dead and all we can come up with are names!?

But seeing the strain on his friend's face he knew better than to push him. And besides, they were all in this together, it was human lives lost and as humans they would rise to this, together.

"Sir I-"

The screen suddenly distorted, violently so, before a blank screen replaced the Admiral's face. Less than a second later the ship began to shake, a sensation rumbled through the bulkheads, one that Jonathan Archer had come to recognize as weapons fire. The red alert klaxon screeched throughout the ship.

"All senior officers report to the bridge, I repeat, all senior officers report to the bridge."

As Archer rushed through the halls, he faintly realized that that had been Malcom's voice, and considering it was T'pol's shift-. He quickly forgot that thought, leaving it hanging as the alarms reminded him of more pressing matters…

The Enterprise had stopped lurching a few moments ago, almost on cue as the turbo-lift doors slid open. "Status repor-" Archer froze, for at that moment he found himself no longer on the Enterprise, but on what appeared to be a desolate wasteland. Ruined skyscrapers littered the streets, an unhealthy glow seemed to settle on the horizon. And what he was doing there was completely beyond his comprehension, his face registered shock, awe, and a not so little amount of fear. Before he could so much as form an intelligent thought Archer found the image surrounding him start to flicker. The sky blurred and reached to the ground, like splattering water on a wet painting. The colors mixed and twirled, bending whatever reality he currently found himself in. The horrible panic intensified as his lungs stopped receiving oxygen, his hands reached out to steady himself, but ended up flailing in the air as he fell, and whatever he was standing on gave way, letting him fall through the rainbow mix.

A painful flash and the next moment he was on something solid, opening his eyes he found himself back in the turbo-lift, the bridge just a crawl away, he slumped down again, his eyes becoming unfocused as he realized there was someone else in the lift: _**Daniels**_…

Lt. Reed didn't like to be at a loss, not having answers was a tactical weakness, and it made him uneasy. Right now he was dealing with several unanswered questions, among such was _**what the hell is going on!? **_That question would have to wait, he hit the comm panel, "Reed to sickbay, prepare for wounded". Without even waiting for a response he closed the channel, fiercely holding down his panic as he slipped into officer mode. "Crewman, get that man's legs, Ensign take the arms. I'll get the Captain".

He was picking Archer off the ground, the two men just stood there nervously.

The man who looked suspiciously like Daniels appeared to be having a seizure, and looked to be aging years in the seconds that passed by. "Now!" he ordered.

The crew members jumped into action, grabbing the odd man as they rushed with the Lieutenant to sickbay…


	3. Chapter 3

Trip had rushed out of engineering as soon as he'd heard about Daniels. With the Captain asleep and T'pol nowhere to be found, he was (unfortunately) the commanding officer. The Enterprise was basically unharmed, a few EPS conduits needed replacing but besides that it was all shipshape. It was the cause that was bothering him, and he had a bad feeling it involved the supposed time traveler in sickbay…

Daniels was in agony, the sheer pain was unimaginable. The screams had stopped eventually, he was simply too tired to keep it up, too tired to care about his injuries, if that's what you could call them. This wasn't supposed to happen, something had gone wrong. The dying Archer to his right was proof of that. They didn't know it yet, but he would die, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it, not even him. Daniels heard the doors swish open, hearing a familiar voice: _**Tucker**_.

He was talking to the Denobulan, Daniels used all his willpower to propel himself at the engineer, clawing at his front. "You have fix it, you must-". His rasp faltered, hands drooping as the engineer shoved him away. He hit the edge of the bio-bed, promptly crumpling to the floor as his body started to shake violently, before he disintegrated into nothingness…

Trip stared, just stared at where a solid body had been a moment ago. "Doc" he took a shaky breath and swallowed, "please tell me I'm not go'n crazy over here."

"I seriously doubt we are both suffering from hallucinations Commander." Phlox pulled out a tri-corder and tapped a few times.

"According to my scans," the Denobulan paused, frowning at the display.

"What is it doc?" the engineers voice had regained some of its stability.

"Well, it would appear that no living being had been in that position for the last four hours. The rate of bio-matter decay is conclusive in that regard."

Trip couldn't help feeling there was something hanging off the end of that sentence. "But?"

Phlox actually looked disturbed, an expression that rarely crossed his features. "There are some irregularities in my readings, and it seems I cannot pin point them directly."

"Bridge to Commander Tucker".

"Tucker here, have you finished those bio-scans yet Ensign?"

"No Sir, it's just, well, you should probably come up here".

There was something weird in her voice, fear maybe? Well they all had rights to be a little shaken.

"I'm on my way Hoshi, Tucker out"…

Stepping onto the bridge, he was met with the semi-frantic Ensign Sato.

"Commander! Sir! Its ear-" Hoshi's panic made her stumble as she walked towards him.

Dashing forward he grabbed her shoulders, steadying her. "Calm down Ensign, now what's wrong?"

"Sir, Starfleet wasn't answering my hails, in fact I wasn't picking up any signal at all."

Trip nodded, egging her on.

"So I asked the science station to run a scan, an-, and-"

"What is it Hoshi, what's wrong?"

"Commander, there aren't any life signs"…


	4. Chapter 4

The senior bridge staff were gathered in the situation room. "Our scans detect no life whatsoever on the planet below, it is completely inhospitable, even to the hardiest of species."

Trip was doing his best to appear calm and decisive, attempting to achieve a visage no amount of self-control could uphold. "How could this have happened? We need answers, clues, speculation, I don't give a damn which!"

The outburst might have been expected from Captain Archer, but the usually docile engineer exuded an energy of hate and anger, more than one person around the table flinched.

Lt. Reed was the first to work up the courage, and will, to tell their commanding officer that there was no practical evidence, or even speculation, which could possibly explain the brown sphere they currently orbited.

However, fate had a way of prolonging the tactical officer's life a few moments longer.

"And where on earth is T'pol?"

"There's been no readings on internal sensors." Replied said Vulcan's replacement.

The Commander's complexion worsened even more, a streak of paleness topping of the red tint. At least he seemed to calm down a bit, the cause for which no one knew, but for everyone was grateful.

"Get together a search party, high and low I want this ship upside down until we find T'pol".

"Aye Sir".

"Good," he sighed. "Now I want everyone thinking about what could have possibly happened, and in the meantime we must assume it is unsafe to remain here."

"But Sir-"

"No buts Ensign, there is nothing we can do here yet, and for all we know there's a Xindi fleet just around the corner."

He eyed everyone in the room, his gaze softened slightly since a moment ago. "Dismissed"…

"Commander, long range sensors are detecting weapons fire"

"Can you identify sources?" Trip didn't want to get in the middle of a firefight, especially since they didn't know anything about, well, anything really. But there might be an opportunity to get some of that info.

The crewman at helm looked up from his readings, "One's definitely a Vulcan ship, d'kyr class by the looks of it, and the other might be Andorian Sir."

"What'a ya mean might be?" Trip hated to be all up on this kids case, but they needed better than guesses here.

The kid was sweating now, he couldn't have been a day over eighteen. "It's just tha-, Sir we-, we don't have enough data on Andorian ships to be a hundred percent positive."

Trip could've smacked himself through that boys stammering, he was being a jerk and it wasn't even his fault.

"At ease Ensign, it's all right"

Smiling nervously the helmsman sat back in his chair.

Meanwhile Trip hit the comm, "Hess are all systems green?"

"Aye Chief"

The customary response made him grin, it almost felt like two days ago, before this whole mess. "Stand by for Warp"

"Roger that".

"Oh, and Anna, don't pull anything crazy, those are still my engines." He only half joked.

A chuckle came through the speaker. "Yeah, sure boss, you just keep telling yourself that".

With an ever bigger grin plastered on his face Trip closed the link. "Helm plot a course for those ships, bring us in close. Lieutenant, make those weapons hot, we're probably gonna need'em, and Hoshi, get ready to hail them on a moment's notice."

A chorus of affirmatives met his ears. Trip felt that twinge in his stomach, nervousness and shame mixed. It was happening too much recently. Way too damn much.

Pausing for a moment, Trip observed the steady actions of his crew, their readiness to obey his orders even into the fray of battle, and felt a swell of pride at serving along these men and women. "Warp five Ensign, engage".

The familiar hum of the Enterprise going to speeds previously unimagined by man soothed his soul, the blissful nature that was a working machine. He savored it while it lasted, cause he had a feeling it would be over all too soon…


	5. Chapter 5

"ETA Ensign?"

The helmsman, since replaced with Mr. Mayweather, didn't raise his eyes, diligently keeping to the task at hand. "Two minutes Commander".

Trip frowned, something didn't feel, (a pause) he snorted, no shit. He knew objectively that he was simply nervous, there was like a one out of a million chance this wouldn't result in combat. Damn he really wished T'pol were here, he winced, the recurring spike of fear lancing through him. Forcing it down, he glanced at the chronometer, thirty seconds left.

"Combat stations ready" his voice sounded unduly harsh to his own ears, he was gonna have to fix that.

Not a sound was made on the bridge as the Enterprise dropped out of warp, swooping on impulse engines towards the fray…

**Bridge of the Vulcan Cruiser T'khut**:

Explosions rocked the ship as fires spawned at damaged consoles, sparks raining down like a storm. The whole scene at odds with the Vulcan's calm reserve.

"Captain there is a vessel approaching." Voices were slightly raised, logically, as to accommodate the excess of background noise.

"Configuration?"

"Unknown"

"Sir, unidentified vessel is firing on the Andorians"…

**Back on the Enterprise**:

"Commander we're taking heavy damage!"

"Life support is failing on decks three and five!"

"Starboard nacelle is hit!"

The constant reports of doom quickened Trip's pulse, the shouting coupled with the explosions tortured his ears. "Take us outta their weapons range! Full impul-" Trip froze, followed by the entire bridge crew. The picture on the view screen looked like it was paused, and the weapons fire had stopped. "Lt. Report".

"Sir I-, I can't explain it, the Vulcan and Andorian ships are dead in the water, they're not even drifting. And power levels are completely stable, it's like i-"

A flash of blinding light tore at Trip's eyes, his arms going up instinctively to shield his vision.

A figure emerged as the light died down, one who appeared to be made of the same brightness from which it had arose. "Commander Tucker". It's voice was melodious, however not in a beautiful way, rather more sinister in its tones.

"Who are you?" Trip couldn't keep the awe out of his voice, that was quite a damn entrance.

"I am the reason your species no longer exists".

Expecting anger, Trip found none within him to fuel his resolve, just a debilitating fear of the unknown.

"What do you want?" he whispered.

"Our plans have not been fulfilled by the extermination of humanity, and so once again we find ourselves in quite a predicament." It paused, examining the man before it as he began to gather back his intelligence.

"So you've come to wipe out the Vulcans, or maybe the Andorians! Hell, maybe even the Klingons, we're all just as worthless! Aren't w-"

"Silence Human!" The booming sound interrupted his tirade, although the talking light bulb seemed more amused than angry.

"We have returned to the only remaining humans in the universe not on a mission of death, as before. No, we need your species back, to return to the previous outcome. Although the chances of that happening now are below minimal. We have come to grant you what help we can."

The shining visage appeared to flicker, distort. "Upon my leave you will find your vessel equipped with technology centauries ahead of your own. Do what you must, but know this, humanity has been given a chance, it will not happen again".

With that it disappeared, and the battle resumed…


	6. Chapter 6

There was no time to recover from the sphere builder's visit, at once the Enterprise was getting battered by phaser rounds.

"Sir! I'm not sure what any of these do!" yelled a frantic Ensign, his board covered with new controls.

They couldn't take much more of this, it was gonna be taking a big chance but- "Ensign power up all systems, I want everything online now!"

From the outside, the Enterprise was a beautiful sight, the shimmering of energy shields along with the self-repairing hull made it a serious force to be reckoned with.

The sound of phasers and photon torpedoes was muffled by the deflector shield surrounding them. Trip would have time to marvel at it later, right now he had to find a solution which didn't involve mass slaughtering.

"Malcom, target the Andorian's engines and weapons."

"Sir, with all due respect we don't have any way of knowing how powerful these phasers are, a wrong shot and we could destroy the entire ship."

Trip nodded, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Set them at half power to be safe."

A nod was the Englishman's only response as he set to work.

"Commander" Travis spoke up from his seat at the helm, "Life support has been restored, and I'm not sure but it looks like the hull is repairing itself." His voice was filled with wonder, a response Trip wished they had time for. "Ensign take us around them, full loop of both ships, try to give their weapons a hard target."

"Aye Sir".

**Aboard the Andorian Vessel Kumari**:

"Commander! They've disabled our phaser banks, both impulse and warp are offline!"

Shran's mind was working furiously, where had this vessel come from? And more importantly, why were they helping the blasted Vulcans. Just a second ago this mystery ship had been crippled, moments away from destruction.

He would have broken something if there was anything left on the bridge that wasn't already in a state of disrepair.

The rocking stopped suddenly, "Lieutenant, full sensor sweep, I want to know what in the three hells is going on"…

**Back on the Enterprise**:

"Sir the Vulcan's are closing in on the Andorians".

"Hail them" came Trip's response, he didn't want to fire on the Vulcans, but he had serious doubts this was gonna be resolved by friendly chit chat.

"No response" reported the Ensign at the communications console.

Everyone had calmed down considerably now that their lives were no longer in danger, and personally Trip was itching to take a look at all these new systems. But that would have to wait until they got some more answers, and he intended to get them. They now knew that they were dealing with time travelers of a sort, and that for some reason those damn light bulb things wanted to kill off humanity, or did originally. Due to Daniels, Trip guessed, the Enterprise had survived the mass extinction. It almost made him want to smirk, Daniels had always caused them nothing but trouble, but that probably wasn't an objective way to look at it. But hey, everyone's entitled to their own opinion of the neighborhood scoundrel.

"No response Sir".

The crewman's report whipped him from his revere. It was go time apparently. "Target their weapons and propulsion systems, lower power to the phasers by ten percent."

They had to take into account that the Vulcan ship was much more heavily damaged.

"Yes commander"

**Aboard the Vulcan Vessel T'khut**:

"Captain, unidentified vessel is locking weapons."

An eyebrow was raised in response, the mystery ship's intentions were themselves unknown. "Full evasive, continue assault on the Kumari."

It wasn't long before the crash of phaser fire rocked the Cruiser, their shields were surprisingly inadequate against the new comer's weapons.

"Weapons and engines are down Captain, Engineering reports insufficient data to estimate time of repair".

"We are being hailed".

No eyebrow was lifted, "Open the channel"…


	7. Chapter 7

Trip felt a certain amount of pride, for what he didn't know. Well, he did know, it just didn't make sense, they currently had the most technologically advanced ship around, probably in the whole quadrant, even if it was just given to them. Maybe it just felt good to demand a little respect, normally the Vulcan's would sniff disdainfully at the primitive humans, holding back just enough tech to leave them begging. But now look at who had the secrets, who had the power, he-.

Oh god what was he thinking?! He was acting like an arrogant barbarian, worse dammit, he was gonna have to roll in these rampant feelings of power, he didn't want to end up like that Khan fella from the eugenics war.

"Sir both the Andorians and Vulcans are responding to our hails."

Trip tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment , "Put them both up onscreen."

The view of space shifted to two equally battered Bridges, and to his surprise, Shran and Soval.

Trip schooled his features instantly, putting on a mask of calm determination. "This is Captain Tucker of the starship Enterprise."

That gaining him some looks from the surrounding humans he continued. "I have no wish to inflict more damage on either of your ships, and for that reason I have disabled both of them, in the interest of a peaceful solution." Damn, who woulda known he could speak so eloquently?

Shran lost it, his antenna flat forward in a display of anger. "Who are you to dictate Andorian affairs?! We have been at war with the Vulcans for over half a century!"

Soval followed suit, however in a more, logical, manner. "Uncommon as it is, I happen to agree with the Andorian Mr. Tucker, you have no jurisdiction in this space."

Trip hated to do it this way, but no one was gonna listen to him otherwise. "You are Captain Soval, I assume?"

A line of eyebrows raised at the aliens knowledge. "That is correct".

Trip nodded, "And you are Captain Shran". It wasn't a question.

"How do you my name pinkskin?" the blue alien spat.

Trip ignored him, "Ensign lower shields".

"Sir?"

"Do it Ensign"

As Travis complied, Trip continued with his speech.

"Your scanners should still be operational enough to see that I hold enough fire power to destroy a small planet."

"Is that a threat pinkskin?" came the growled response of shran.

Shaking his head, "no, not a threat, just a fact, a fact that means you'd better watch the insults".

Shran looked like he was about to explode.

On the Vulcan half of the screen however, "what is it you want?"

Trip grinned, "I thought you'd never ask"…

**Aboard the Vulcan Cruiser T'khut**:

Soval was perplexed, this _human_, as they now knew his species was called, had insisted on a conference aboard his ship. It was Soval's duty to ensure that the outcome resulted in their favor.

He had come to the still intact ready room with another Vulcan.

"T'pol". He addressed his science officer.

"The alien has allowed for an escort of one other to accompany their respective Captain, as such I choose you".

A delicate eyebrow was raised, alone saying all that needed to be said. "I fail to see the logic in your selection, Major Stonn is quite adept at diffusing difficult political situations."

Soval nodded, now he had to raise a slightly uncomfortable topic, even for a Vulcan. "Yes, that is true, and normally the Major would be the logical choice, however, he is a male." Soval left it at that, hoping she would make the correct inference. She did not.

"And?" T'pol prompted.

Soval sighed, a clear telling of the strain placed on his emotional control. "The Captain of the alien ship is a male, and you are a female."

T'pol, if anything, appeared disgusted, before her reflexes kicked in, and her features were impassively schooled once again. "You wish me to seduce him?"

"Their vessel is, impressive, beyond anything of either Vulcan or Andoria, having it on our side would practically ensure victory. Your V'shar training and telepathic aptitude make you the logical choice to carry out this mission."

Not a thing crossed her features, "understood"…


	8. Chapter 8

Trip waited at the starboard docking area, Lt. Reed was currently doing the same on the port side. Both men were accompanied by four security guards, just a safety precaution, Trip didn't want their visitors getting any ideas.

The panel lit up green, announcing the completion of the decompression cycle. Typing in the security code, Trip wondered if maybe he should ha-, there was no time to finish that thought as the door slid open.

Inside was Soval and-, Trip's jaw promptly fell open. It was, it- it was "T'pol" he whispered. He still hadn't figured out why their little time traveling escapade had left her behind. But here she was, in the flesh. He gulped, completely lost, he felt like a misbehaving kid under her cool gaze, those wonderful, almond brown eyes you could just lose yourself in.

"Permission to come aboard Captain?" It was Soval, whose unflinching gaze paled in comparison.

"Oh uh-, yes, yes permission granted." He stammered, tearing his eyes away from T'pol's face. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't remember liking her _that_ much.

**T'pol's Perspective**:

The human was surprisingly receptive, however he seemed to possess a familiarity concerning herself. Looking back she realized that he had had information regarding her's and the Andorian's Captain, a possible explanation would simply be an advanced intelligence operation, but the look on Tucker's face relayed a sense of, personal, familiarity. That however, was impossible, any contact with a new alien species was documented, and one with this level of technological superiority would not be easily forgotten.

This enigma would have to be solved at a later time, for the human Captain appeared to have regained his composure, and was now leading them through the corridors. T'pol's mind tapped into her security training, eyes unblinking as she memorized the layout of the Enterprise…

**Shran's Perspective**:

Shran sat at the oval wooden table in a room dispensed of all objects except the table itself and the chairs sealed to the ground. These pinkskins were infuriatingly competent, not one single weapon could be found or made in this room, but Shran didn't need any tools to kill a Vulcan.

He threw a glare at the nearest human, complete with antenna quivering in the man's direction. To his credit this Lt. Reed didn't so much as flinch, eyes sparing him a mere glance before resuming his steady stare of the opposite wall.

Finally the door swished open, and it was damn good timing to, he was literally a second away from really losing his temper. It mightn't have been that bad, he supposed, barely containing a savage grin.

**Tucker's Perspective**:

Trip walked through the door, praying that the actual Captain would wake up any second now, and demand to take over the proceedings himself, saving Trip the utter hell that was dealing with an Andorian and Vulcan in the same room. He wasn't the religious type, but it didn't hurt, well, up to when he had kicked that bulkhead in a fit, _that_ had hurt.

Taking a seat at one end of the table, Trip observed his unwilling guests as they settled into their seats, the blank, emotionless slates they passed for a face pointed in his direction. Or in the blue guy's case, a bomb set to the ticker.

He had just opened his mouth to begin what he hoped would be a relatively simple and quick session, but not even .5 seconds in and that hope was viciously squashed.

"Spare us the formalities, _Captain_ pinkskin, but my crew is getting rather tired of this game, either you finish us or let us about our buissness, Vulcans won't kill themselves you know."

It was really hard to interpret Shran's expression, it was kinda like a mix of anger and joy combined, and maybe just a dash of bloodlust. To be honest it scared the living daylights out of him, but he wouldn't let that show, noooo boy, showing weakness around an Andorian was not the smartest thing to do.

"Obviously, Vulcans do not condone the homicide of our own people, unlike the Andorians, I believe you yourself had a part in the destruction of Paan Mokar."

Trip looked at Soval sharply, apparently even the Vulcans couldn't be trusted to act civilized. He honestly had no idea how to handle this situation, so with a split decision he launched forward, ignoring the doubt and worry lurking in the back of his mind.

"There is no logic in disputing facts that will never be conceded by the other side Ambassa-, Captain Soval."

Catching his slip practically too late, he recovered quickly considering. He just hoped they'd let it slide as a slip of the tongue.

Even Shran looked surprised at that one, "You've got a point human, these traitorous bastards would never accept any dirt on their conscience, it's too precious to their damn logic."

Inwardly Trip sighed, this was gonna take a while…


	9. Chapter 9

Trip didn't know how long it had been, but in all the time theses squabblings had been going on, (a damn long time as far as he was concerned) nothing productive had transpired. When they weren't mad at each other, they'd get pissed at him, at least they knew how to work together he dryly mused. Raised voices were being elevated at a scary rate, shouting was in the near future. "Look, jus-"

He was cut off again, Shran going into another tirade.

This had to end, and Trip was probably going to regret his method but at the moment he was beyond caring. "Shut Up!"

Antenna and pointy ears tilted in his direction, as if befuddled, he didn't care if they were surprised, or shocked, or outraged, he honestly didn't care right now.

"You're acting like children for god sakes! How hard can it be to pretend you're civilized for five minutes?"

He took a shuddering breath, before practicing some Vulcan breathing techniques. He'd been studying them in the ships database, they were actually surprisingly useful.

In calmer tones he continued, "Look, all I want is to speak to your respective governments, I don't wanna pick sides here, I'm not gonna sign anything with the Vulcans until the Andorians agree to it as well, and vice versa."

Shrans eyes were squinted, antenna erect, "why should we trust you, either of us?"

Trip sighed, "Alright, if you want to keep fighting each other for the next fifty years, be my guest, I'll take my ship away and you'll never see us again." He paused, taking the time to eye each of them personally.

"How long have you been in this stalemate? How many innocent lives have been lost over petty arguments? How many have you sent to their deaths, just to win the day?" Trip took a breath, his eyes shifted away from their stares, looking into the table, face contorted with emotion. "I'm offering you a chance to end this, to end the needless death, it's your choice." His speech done, Trip sat back in his chair, fairly satisfied with his argument, now if only they could see past their blasted arrogance, something good might come of this.

**Shran's Perspective**:

The pinkskin words had affected him deeply, not that he'd ever tell anyone that, least of all the Vulcans. But perhaps he had a point, Andoria might be a planet of warriors, but that shouldn't mean sending the best of their young to die, year after year in a war that always seemed to be going nowhere. In reality, how much had they gained, a few planets by the ruthless battles taken place on their now charred surfaces?

No, Shran would do his best to make sure the council endorsed this Human's idea. And if the pinkskin was lying, well, then Captain Tucker would wish with his utmost power that he were dead, Andorian executions were not pretty.

**Soval's Perspective**:

The Human had expressed an exceedingly logical argument, the illogic of waste was a fundamental teaching in the words of Surak. Actually, Captain Tucker had shown a basic grasp of many of Surak's lessons, whether he knew it or not. Although Soval suspected he might be keeping more to himself then he was currently letting on. For one, himself and most assuredly T'pol had noticed Tucker's use of Vulcan breathing exercises, a simplistic version but none the less it showed his knowledge of their culture, one which was a mystery to most all other species besides Vulcans themselves. Yet another reason for T'pol's infiltration.

For now he would concede to the Humans terms, but logic dictated there was another force at work here, and Vulcan would not be the one to fall prey to it…


	10. Chapter 10

**T'pol's Perspective**:

Tucker had left the room approximately two minutes beforehand, leaving herself and the Andorian tactical officer, Tallas, to be briefed by her counterpart aboard the Enterprise.

After agreeing to "think about it", as Tucker himself had said, it was decided that a representation from both planets would reside aboard the Enterprise for the time being. Personally, T'pol thought that the Human's goal of attaining peace was nothing more than a ruse, something meant to distract them while whatever scheme they were planning went its course. Although, it did seem improbable that they would choose a lie that both Vulcan and Andoria would object to.

No peace would be reached, whether by the Humans hand or not. Regardless of the intricacies of deceiving, it was essential to uncover their intentions, force was already proven not to be an option. So, unnerving as it might be, T'pol would need to gather the information through more, emotional, methods.

His familiarity with her, however that had happened, would no doubt be a boon in gaining his trust.

Glancing to her right, Tallas appeared to be listening intently to Lt. Reed's listing of which areas were off limits on board.

The Andorian might well prove an adversary for the Captains affection, for all T'pol knew Shran had given her similar orders.

Either way, she was confident that through logic, she would prevail…

**Tucker's Perspective**:

The basic concepts were easy to grasp, these new warp engines had a fairly similar design, just more power. And as easy as that should have made it to figure out the whole system, Trip couldn't make head or tail of it. And they would need to, cause while it wasn't that likely they would take much damage with these new shields, maintaining them might very well end up a problem. And he didn't want to be in the middle of two pissed off fleets without their main advantage. Maybe if he could jus-

"Hey Boss!"

Ah dammit, Hess.

"Yeah what's up Anna!" He yelled from the junction he was underneath. Footsteps approached as he tried to pull himself deeper into the junction, he knew it was kinda childish, but damn if this wasn't what an engineer lived for.

"Trip you've been down here since before my shift started, get out and catch some Z's."

He let out a tired sigh, "yeah I suppose so, I'm just gonna-"

A powerful yank on his left foot brought him out a couple inches. "Alright alright, jeez, why don't you just spank me while you're at it?"

A chuckle met his ears as he pulled himself out.

"You wish, now get that southern accent outta here."

Shaking his head, a wry smile plastered on his face as Trip made his way out of engineering…

The halls were awfully quiet, it was the late shift, anyone who wasn't working was either sleeping or getting drunk. Depressing as it was, chef had informed him that not only had the crew been drinking more in general, but that a large supply had actually been stolen.

Stifling a yawn behind his fist, he would deal with that tomorrow, he actually was pretty tired.

He made a bend around the corner, just as a fist connected with his nose. Tumbling to the ground he faintly recognized a hypo-spray against his neck, before everything went black…


	11. Chapter 11

A stinging slap was Commander Tucker's wake up call. As he opened his eyes a nauseating sensation arose from the depths of his stomach, accompanied by a pounding in his head worse than the ultimate hangover. "What the-"

A second blow across the face was enough to rouse him to full consciousness. The world suddenly came into focus, with painful clarity. He was strapped down to some kind of metal table, in a room that could scare the hide off a rhino. Bluish coils were embedded in each corner of the walls, wiring was strewn everywhere, and there was an extremely intimidating Andorian standing over him.

Trip launched himself at the blue person, knocking them to the ground and rushing out of there. Or so he thought, until he realized he was still restrained, arms heaving at the straps with no noticeable effect.

Damn, they must've pumped him up with some crazy drugs.

His attention returned to the Andorian woman, who was at this point hosting an evil smirk, watching in amusement as the pitiful human struggled to break free.

Trip, for his part, did keep trying, efforts only becoming more desperate as a sinister laugh echoed through the room…

**One Hour Previously**:

Shran made his way to the interrogation room, his second in command had notified him of urgent business. Personally he was hoping for a Vulcan, they were the hardest prisoners to break, but definitely the most rewarding.

The door didn't slide open perfectly, getting stuck halfway through. Grabbing the edge he gave a hard pull, which turned out unnecessary, as he toppled backwards onto the floor. With a growl and a quick glance to make sure no one had seen their commanding officer fall on his rear, Shran dusted himself off and walked into the room.

What he saw gave him pause, that was, before he got mad.

Tucker was strapped into the crudest part of their torture complex, unconscious. By his side was the Andorian's first officer.

"What have you done?" came his snarl.

"What does it look like?" her voice bit back.

Shran's eyes were wide, his antenna flat in outrage. "The humans will kill us! They will kill every Andorian that crosses their path, don't you see, they have the firepower to do it!"

"_Not_ while we have their Captain onboard, they won't dare fire on us."

"You don't know that _Lieutenant_. We don't know anything about them, none of us do!"

The blue woman tilted her chin upwards, eyeing Shran with disgust. "You've never been one to back down before, but now I see what you truly are, a coward!"

Shran was positively vibrating, as if the anger had made its way down to his very bones. "I'll have you knocked down to crewman! You'll spend the rest of your mutinous life polishing bulkheads!" He took a swing at her, which she easily blocked.

A return jab to the gut knocked him backwards, launching himself at her he didn't make it far when two pairs of hands grabbed his arms, restraining him.

She rose to her full height, before leaning over him, plucking off his Captain's insignia and pinning it to her own chest.

"Take him to the brig"…


	12. Chapter 12

Lt. Reed sat in the Captain's chair, observing the crewman, supervising when necessary, and mostly catching up on old paper work. He contained a heavy sigh with serious effort, why did they even bother? Starfleet wasn't around to send the paperwork _to_. And it wasn't like their resident engineer turned Captain, had even looked at a single duty roster he had submitted, or report for that matter. Normally, Malcom Reed would be the last person to complain about regulations, he practically worshipped them, even followed them in his personal life. But right now he almost _wanted_ one of those ships to try something drastic, it might even keep his mind occupied.

Ensign Travis Mayweather was an easy man to read, his expressions were basically youthful enthusiasm, and that was it. You could tell something was wrong a split second before he told you if you just looked closely.

And the British Lieutenant _could_ tell, which was why his shoulders tensed, giving his normally military stance an even more rigid pose.

"What is it Ensign?" his voice was, as always, hard, completely one hundred percent professional.

"Sir?" the helmsman twisted in his seat, confusion written clearly on his face as to how his commanding officer had known. Taking a second, he recovered swiftly enough. "Well Sir, it-," he frowned down at his display again. "It looks like the Kumari is having power fluctuations."

Malcom's attention was on it immediately, "Is there any chance of a warp core breach?"

"Oh, no Sir, this seems more like-"

A whirring noise emitted from the tactical station. "The Andorian ship is powering up shields!"

"Red alert, get our shields up. Ensign Sato, call the Captain to the bridge."

"I wouldn't bother if I were you."

Everyone froze, except Hoshi. "Lieutenant they've hacked our signal, audio only."

"Who am I speaking to." Reed demanded.

"You are speaking to the people who have your Captain, locked up in our brig." The voice garbled slightly.

"Put Captain Shran on the line _now_."

There was small pause before the comm system gargled to life. "Watch your tongue, _pinkskin_, there is nothing to stop us from turning your Captain into a vegetable, I believe the term is."

Reed was taking a risk, but then, who wasn't these days. "Well, at that point, Mr. Tucker will no longer be able to fulfill his duties as Captain, thereby leaving me in command of the Enterprise." He paused himself, letting the moment hang. "And for your acts of aggression, I will be obligated to commence fire on your vessel, however, I am not closed to negotiation."

He was planning on the fact that the Andorians here knew nothing about humans. But Malcom Reed knew some things, and one, was that if there was any way to make an Andorian understand, it was a threat…


	13. Chapter 13

A piercing scream flooded the room, whimpers of agony on either side.

Trip was dazed, enough so that he couldn't think coherently, but not enough to stop the blinding pain scorching through him. Like a thousand knives slicing his skin, and the heat, one second it was freezing, the next, blazing hot, like being lit on fire.

And through everything was the terrifying, blood boiling, panicked confusion that ran amuck through his mind. He couldn't tell what was causing him such pain, he was in an open area, there weren't any visible knives, so what was happening? His primal nature, as such he had been reduced to, was searching for the threat with as much obsession as he could muster against the invisible perpetrators.

"What is your mission in this space?" the sharp voice cut through his clouded thoughts, bringing with it the clarity of hell.

"Gotahullyoubaresters" he mumbled, voice low, eyes shut tight as if trying to shield himself from the reality he knew would be waiting for him.

The voice came back, sounding more irritated, and maybe a little desperate? Trip's subconscious understood that, and his mind was flooded with new resolve, and joy, if it could be called such in his current situation.

"What are your orders!?"

His eyes opened, squinting through the blinding light that separated him from his captor. Speaking slowly, deliberately, "Go. To. Hell. You Bastard."

Trip's only warning was a vicious snarl, before a blue hand turned the dial, not stopping as his screams intensified…

**Tallas's Perspective**:

The human had yet to reveal any information. She had to give him credit, two hours with the device was enough to break a Vulcan. Granted, he probably was broken, just not to the point where his tongue loosened up. The "device" as it had been dubbed, was essentially a neuro-scambler, they had gotten the idea after learning about Vulcan neuro-pressure. It did the exact opposite of the procedure that had inspired it, destabilizing the brains functions even to the point where suggestions could be implanted, such as heat or extreme pain.

Either these humans were absurdly tough, or she was just losing her touch, and the latter was seriously doubted.

Tallas was on her way to what was left of the brig, having left the human a few moments ago. She figured she'd give him enough time to regain his motor control, and then let him dwell on its future absence.

But right now, her orders from the new Captain were quite explicit, it was a pity, she had always liked Shran…

**Tarah's Perspective**:

The humans had yet to bargain for their Captain's life, they hadn't even attempted to hail them, and Tarah was just beginning to question her alleged patriotism. Perhaps these humans really were barbarians, willing enough to the grasp the power when fortune slipped in their favor. Snorting, it crossed her mind that she had basically done the same thing, but with one major difference, Andorians took what they wanted, not waiting for someone else to do their dirty work like cowards.

However, regardless of their apparent faults, the pinkskins did have the upper hand in terms of tech, and _that_, she didn't want to mess with. Person to person, she wouldn't hesitate to prove how evolved Andorian physiology truly was. But in that ship, in the Enterprise, they were in charge.

It was time to rethink their strategy…


	14. Chapter 14

**T'pol's Perspective**:

She had been called from deep meditation to the bridge. An illogical thought crossed her mind as another human passed by in the corridor, that this interruption had better not be for trivial reasons.

Odd, clearly her exposure to these humans was affecting her emotional control. Her telepathic capabilities had always been strong, but she had not as of yet come into physical contact with anyone aboard this ship. Clearly this warranted further study, although in the meantime she would merely expend more time on meditation.

Were she to look closer, the rampant emotions in her mind consisted not only of irritation. However she had already closed that line of thought, and was moving onto currently relevant matters. Such as what warranted her presence on the bridge, T'pol could only hope it was not for ceremonial purposes, interrupting a Vulcan's meditation was not wise, especially in such a pointless endeavor…

**Reed's Perspective**:

"That's the situation, and we need to know where you and your ship stand on this." Malcom let out a breath he _did_ know he was holding in. In fact, he was painfully aware of the triple shift he was being forced to pull. Technically, he could've gotten a few hours of sleep and just given the shift to a junior officer, but their Cpatain was on that ship, and he'd be damned if they weren't going to get him back. A split second later he realized he'd just thought of Trip as the Captain, well, he _was_ really tired.

Reed's tired eyes came back to meet T'pol's, whose unblinking gaze got topped by an eloquent eyebrow. Right now, he could really go for some of that Vulcan detachment, this whole bloody thing would be a lot easier.

"I can assure you the support of the D'kyr. However we will need access to your main computer."

The request seemed fair enough, he wou-, his mouth shut tight before anything slipped out. He _really_ needed to get some rest.

"For what reason?" He had no intention of actually letting them anywhere near it, but he was interested in whatever cock-and-bull story she was going to give.

"To better asses our placement in this dilemma, and to construct our options accordingly."

Reed sighed, exhaling softly through his nose. That actually was a pretty good reason, but he'd be a fool if he believed she was in it for purely chivalrous reasons.

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow you access to our mainframe, we'll simply have to rely on each other for any necessary tactical information."

Her raised eyebrow was the only response he got, and not for the first time, Reed wished the Commander were here…


	15. Chapter 15

**Tucker's Perspective**:

Trip also wished he were there, the crew might be a little disgruntled but at least he wouldn't have to worry about getting strapped to a torture machine. Although honestly, he'd take that over his current dilemma. Starfleet had a code of conduct or whatever when it came to torture-esc type things. It seemed the blue guys had no such procedures, or if they did they sure as hell weren't following them. Trip would've snorted if he had the strength, but at the moment he was a little worse for wear.

After god knows how long he was finally taken away from that _thing_, he shivered. It was so horrible, the pain, and that wasn't even all of it, his mind had felt like it wasn't in control, as if there were something telling it what to do.

At some point he had fallen unconscious, the pain finally overloading his brain. When he came to he was in this room, with the cold steel walls and no bed or anything.

And so here he lay, shivering against the floor, crumpled up in a ball clutching himself for dear life. Just wishing he weren't here, anywhere but here. He wished for Enterprise, and every couple of minutes he'd imagine he was there, in the engine room. Anna was making cracks, Rostov would screw up the EPS manifolds, and everything was alright. Before it was all viciously snatched away, reality would come crashing in and the horrors intensified.

A sudden crackle brought Trip's head flying up, seeking potential sources of the mind-shattering pain he would give anything to avoid.

But his view was devoid of any such objects, all his eyes could see were the metal poles that barred him from-, from the Enterprise.

His eyes began to tear, the stress, the emotions, the absurdity of their whole goddamn situation. Not to mention _his_ situation added on top. And maybe it was the hours of unfathomable torture, his reserves finally reaching their breaking point, or perhaps he had just stopped running, ending the pursuit in which his problems so desperately tried to catch him. To look him in the eye and force him to deal with them, to give them the peace they so wanted.

Would they linger and fester? Becoming such as that he would lose himself within their unwavering force? Would Charles Tucker fall to hate and despair, clinging on to his very destruction with a fever born of horror?

Or would he rise above them? Resolving his issues, coming to peace in the knowledge that he had done what he could to the best of his ability? That his essence may finally be cleansed in the greatness found all around him, if only he would look?

This outcome, the choices now distinguished, would decide the fate of those beyond his simple holding cell. The countless lives riding on a single man, was decided, by a single tear…


	16. Chapter 16

**Tallas's Perspective**:

A blue fist connected brutally with the bulkhead, anger venting itself through her arms even as it dulled the pain emanating from her hand.

Tallas's growl was quiet, but anyone in the vicinity was wise enough to give the Weapon's Officer a wide berth as they went about their business.

The turbo-lifts were down, they had held up for a while even after the battle was finished. But for some reason the blasted thing wouldn't power up.

"You!" she beckoned at a nearby repair worker who was busy with a plasma torch.

"Yes Ma'am?" the crewman cut the power to his tool, and with another gloved hand lifted his protective visor.

Tallas drew herself to full stature, purposefully creating an imposing image to the young Ensign.

"I want the turbo-lifts on decks eight through two repaired in an hour." Her voice carried itself with imperious dignity.

"I'm sorry Sir but the Chief engineer told me if I didn't repair this junction I'd be busted down to cadet."

The boy's eyes seemed groveling enough, but she wasn't in the mood for generosity.

"And _I'm_ telling you that if these lifts aren't repaired in one hour, your rank won't be the only thing busted."

The kids eyes widened, and a split second later he was scrambling towards the lift's doors.

Tallas smirked as she continued her swagger down the halls, there was nothing like showing a subordinate their proper place, it almost made taking the ladder worth it…

**Shran's Perspective**:

It was fortunate the brig had been damaged, even if only slightly so. Shran's hands were inside the wall, reconnecting various wirings beyond the panel he had finally pried open. That mutinous piece of-, the blue hands stilled as he calmed himself down, he would need to keep a clear head if he wanted to get out of this alive. But anyway, the point was that Tarah was daft enough to stick in some primitive metal bars after the glass had shattered, and still think it was secure. A commanding officer never made those mistakes twice, and Shran was going to prove it. If only the damn thing would just-, a whirring noise started up overhead, before quietly shutting off, taking with it the lights, and gradually spreading across the entire floors power grid.

The force field shimmered, before snapping into thin air. Shran hurriedly reconfigured some more wires, there wasn't much time before this was detected and fixed, most probably with a bullet in his head. Nevertheless, a feral grin worked its way across his features, payback was going to be sweet…


	17. Chapter 17

An explosion resounded outside his cell, knocking Trip from his trance like state, somewhat.

Arms unfolding from around his knees he tried to stand on the wobbly logs he now had for legs, latching himself to the wall in an attempt to steady his motion.

The dizzying sensation was almost too much for him, but with a resolve reborn in the last ten minutes, he persevered with the strength of a man already beyond his limits.

His shuffling soon turned to small steps, a long stride happened to be too much though, as he toppled over. On his hands and knees he crawled to the bars which confined him in this godforsaken room.

Call it engineers intuition, but with a tentative finger, Trip reached up to the place where the force field had previously been. And surprisingly unsurprisingly, he discovered there was no wall of energy in his way.

Shouts sounded along with phaser fire, straining his ears Trip could hear the struggles taking place just beyond his barrier.

Moments later there were two dull thuds, before a disheveled Shran appeared in front of his cage.

But all Trip saw were the antenna, and the blue skin. Falling back on his rear he scuttled away from the Andorian, backing himself into a corner as he put as much space between them as he could.

As his phase rifle was raised, Trip, caught between accepting his death and raging like a savage, merely shied back from the figure before him. Closing his eyes, and gently began rocking himself back and forth.

**Shran's Perspective**:

The human was clearly delirious, Shran wouldn't be surprised if Tucker had been in that machine for hours. Either that or these pinkskins were just wimps.

But they'd have plenty of time to gauge the extent of his mental damage later, right now they had to get out of here, and now damn well meant _now_.

A round from his phaser took care of the primitive lock mechanism, before he kicked the door open.

The thunder of boots crashing down the hall did not go unnoticed by Shran, they only had a few seconds left before their options completely ran out.

"Pinkskin come on we have to move now!"

No response, Tucker just kept murmuring nonsense under his breath.

With a growl and a curse not far behind, Shran dashed towards the still open doorway. He'd be damned if his effort failed now, and besides, the best way to save Tucker's life was to retake his ship. No doubt he'd have to undo whatever lies Tarah had been spreading. But he knew this crew, they were loyal to him, and on top of that, Tarah was hated with a passion. So it shouldn't be too hard to get her head strung up on a spike.

Shran ducked behind the bulkhead, Tallas and two more guardsmen were coming. _Dammit!_

Tallas was, she was-. He almost couldn't believe it, his mate was-. The hurt and confusions played its way through his mind, one of his only weaknesses, the person he had truly loved. She- she-, with an angry jerk Shran reset the phase rifles setting, his brain roiling with hatred and rage. _She_ was a manipulative bitch, and he was going to deal with her as such.

The warning sign on the phaser lit up, and it wasn't the stun setting…


	18. Chapter 18

**Tallas's Perspective**:

Tallas and two of her crewman were jogging down the corridor. The power had mysteriously shut off just in this section of the Kumari, and while that could be due to the damage and repairs she wasn't taking any chances. Because no one ever made that mistake twice, as Shran himself had told her.

The crewmen with her she had specifically chosen, for, safety purposes. Both of them had grievances against their former captain, sealed in blood.

They had been among the select few who actually knew the truth about Shran's disappearance, and had needed little encouragement to swear their oath to Captain Tarah.

The doorway loomed ahead of them, and a quickening pulse pounded in her ears.

Something wasn't right, Tallas knew when to trust her gut, and it wasn't often anything fazed her.

Those brigs were built to be inescapable, but if they had been damaged-, then he would have had no problem exploiting that weakness. She raised her phase pistol, signaling with her other hand for the crewmen to flank the doorway.

Lightning fast she ducked into the room, slamming herself into the left wall while her eyes scanned the perimeter with skill earned from years of soldering.

"Clear". Reported the man behind her, his voice raspy with rage, rage that Thy'lek Shran had evaded them before his thirst for vengeance had been sated.

Nothing, absolutely empty of any other Andorian. At least the pinkskin was still there, if they had lost him-. Tallas shuddered to think of the repercussions of that failure, Tucker was still their only leverage over the Enterprise and it's phaser banks, although from what she had heard, he might just be running out of usefulness.

A creak sounded overhead, she looked up, and reacted a second later as time seemed to slow.

"DUCK!"

**Shran's Perspective**:

Shran cursed the damn air vent, it had chosen the exact wrong moment to start making sounds. And because it did, Tallas was still breathing, for now. The other Imperial Guardsmen weren't as fortunate, two bursts of blue energy remedied their traitorous lives.

But that gave Tallas the time she needed to recover, a carefully aimed shot at the ceiling and his vantage point fell from the sky, already weakened by his added weight.

Shran scrambled out of the tube, reaching for his dropped rifle before a black booted foot kicked it out of his reach. Before he could act her knee connected sharply with his forehead, knocking him back where her phaser was readily pointed at his face.

His eyes squinted up at her, seething with hatred and hurt. "You" He didn't need to continue, that word was filled with enough meaning to speak thousands.

Her face featured a feral smirk, "Yes, me".

Shran clamped his eyes tight, not wanting to see his death by the person he had loved, the person he had cherished above all others. He didn't want to know her like this, not like this.

The distinctive noise of a phaser being fired did nothing to faze him, he would accept his death with honor, he was prepared to die.

And so when he heard the thud of a body hitting the floor, he was most definitely surprised to find it wasn't his.

Eyes shooting open, he was granted the sight of a very angry pinkskin, breathing harshly. He was holding a phaser over the wide eyed Tallas, her last moments of surprise clearly etched onto her face.

"Bitch shoulda checked the lock"…


	19. Chapter 19

**Reed's Perspective**:

"Sir, there's a shuttle pod leaving the Andorian vessel." Reported the current shift's helmsman.

"On screen" commanded the Lieutenant. Whatever foul play the Andorians were plotting-, Reed gripped the edge of his chair till his knuckles turned white, he would make them pay dearly for it. For this entire scenario, he'd make them pay dearly.

Ensign Sato wore a befuddled expression, "Sir the shuttle craft is sending us an encoded message, it's Starfleet".

This could be a trick, there was no way of knowing how much information had been extracted from the Commander.

"Visual?"

"No Lieutenant, audio only".

Reed nodded, his sleep deprived brain struggling to comprehend their situation. "Put them on".

The entire bridge crew listened intently as the static cleared and a voice emerged, "Tucker to Enterprise, respond Enterpri-"

The static resumed, and whatever jubilance had been gained was shortly lost. "Sir, the Andorians are firing on the shuttle!"

Reed was out of the chair in an instant, the motion helped him think, and stay awake. "Helm, put us between the Kumari and their pod. Ensign Sato, get me a channel with the Andorians, Tactical prep torpedoes and phasers."

A chorus of affirmatives echoed on the bridge. A bit of pride worked its way onto Malcoms carefully sculpted face, this crew could sit around lazily without any type of regulations when Mr. Tucker was in charge. But it was good to know that when it was necessary, he could count on them come hell or high water.

"No response Lieutenant." Came Hoshi's voice.

So be it, thought Malcom, they would show these bastards just what the Enterprise was capable of.

He addressed the crewman standing at the science station, "Do we still have any of the probes intact?"

"Yes Sir, four remaining, should I advise bay crews?"

They had dismantled a number the advanced probes that had magically appeared in the launch bay, in hindsight they probably should've left more. But right now what was needed was had, and was definitely going to get utilized.

"Yes Ensign, and tell them to set it for EMP controls".

Her affirmative was in the background as crewman Reykoh spoke from the weapons station.

"Sir if we detonate that the radius will definitely encompass the Kumari's shuttle".

Damn, things _had_ been starting to seem too easy. "Suggestions?"

The young man went into his theory with vigor, an amount detestable to one in such a mood as Malcom.

"If we open the shuttle bay doors and match our position to a thirty degree angle compared to theirs, we should have enough time and maneuverability to match their course, whatever the variance might be."

Reed wasn't going to even ask how he had figured that out, or if it would actually work. No need to look incompetent in front of his bridge crew, and he was just too tired to think of anything better.

"Do it" he ordered, just barley fighting back a yawn…


	20. Chapter 20

**Aboard the Kumari**:

"Captain, the humans have launched a class four probe."

Now that _was_ odd, what could they possibly be-

"Sir, I've lost helm control!"

"Weapons and shields are offline!"

And just like that, everything turned upside-down.

"Well get them back!" Tarah ordered, fire in her stance. They couldn't fail now, they had to destroy that shuttle!

Angrily she shoved the helmsman to the side, taking his place. "Tarah to engineering, report."

No response emitted from the inter-ship communicator.

"Captain the Enterprise is powering weapons!"

"Engineering!" she screamed, slamming her hand brutally into the button.

"Do we have _anything_?" she growled at the nearest crewman.

"N-no Sir, even life support is failing." The woman nervously replied, fearing for her life at the hands of the Captain even as the Enterprise prepared to destroy them.

**Aboard the Enterprise**:

"Now Ensign!"

The crewman's idea was just crazy enough to work, at least that's what Lt. Reed hoped.

And despite all evidence to the contrary, Reed wasn't going to take the chance of falling right into a trap, well, not without insurance anyway. For one, their scans hadn't been able to penetrate the hull, which suggested someone didn't want their identity known. And two, the transmission had been audio only, it was certainly easier to replicate voices than it was for a human body.

"We have it, but there's probably a lot of damage in the landing bay."

"Acknowledged, good job Ensign, you've earned some rest, go get it."

"Yes Sir" beamed Reykoh, his entire face lit with pride.

More quietly he leaned towards Hoshi, "Get a security team to the bay".

"Sir?" she queried, confused as to why they would need guards for the Commander.

He didn't answer, just tapped the comm unit on his chair, "Reed to sickbay."

"Sickbay, Phlox here Lieutenant."

"Doctor, Mr. Tuckers just arrived". He didn't need to say anymore.

There was a slight pause before the speaker came to life, "I'll have an emergency medical team standing by."

"Acknowledged, Reed out."

**Tucker's Perspective**:

The world was spinning, or rather, the shuttle pod. Trip raised his head, the heaviness wearing down on it as he observed in his stupor, the sparks raining down through a cut in the door. It was slowly spreading, he realized while allowing gravity to take his head as toll, thudding back onto the metal floor.

His body was spread so that he reached from one end of the pod to the other, there was an increasingly uncomfortable weight on his stomach.

He opened his eyes just a crack, hoping he could see the perpetrator from his vantage point, cause moving didn't sound all that fun anymore.

_Oh, a chair,_ he realized, a dull ache taking precedence in his conscious mind.

_Is that good or bad?_

_Feels bad. But it's just a chair, right? _

His mind debating the complexities of the dilemma, Trip didn't even notice when the plasma torch finished cutting, and the pod was left with a sizable hole in its side.

_Damn my head hurts, wait, is that a chair?... _


	21. Chapter 21

**Phlox's Perspective**:

The door popped open, letting out the smoke that billowed from within.

Phlox made to move forward, but was held back by one of the security guards.

"We have to clear the shuttle before anyone can enter". To his statements credit two of the surrounding humans made their way towards the wreckage.

Phlox rarely wore any expression other than his constantly jubilant smile. But such was the severity of their situation, that right now he found it hard to fight the instinctual no-nonsense mode that came along with it.

"The Commander may need medical attention, now you cannot expect me to wait while he is very possibly critically injured."

With that Phlox strode ahead, intent on the shuttle's entrance. But not three steps in and he was stopped by the sound of a-, no, that couldn't be right.

Despite his self-assurances Phlox turned around to find himself staring straight into a phase pistol, the wielder, as such, was hosting a face that could make a Vulcan jealous.

"I'm sorry but I have my orders, no one enters the craft until it is declared safe."

"Safe for whom?" his words carried a sharp bite. "Safe for Mr. Tucker? Who at this moment may be seriously injured from this ordeal alone, not to mention the hours of torture he was undoubtedly subjected to?!"

Without even noticing it, Phlox's voice had risen to a level unheard by anyone on the entire ship, probably the entire universe. He had always spoken in calm, collected tones no matter the situation.

However that was a matter for a later time, to be discussed in the ships gossip vine. Right now everyone was more than content to focus on their respective jobs, especially if it meant staying out of whatever was happening in that little scene.

"What's going on here?" the lieutenant entered the conversation without announcing himself.

Such was the depth and concentration of their argument that neither Phlox nor the security guard reacted immediately, taken aback that Reed was even in the room.

Phlox recovered first, not having to worry about Mr. Reed being his direct superior officer.

"Lieutenant I must insist I am allowed to ascertain the condition of Commander Tucker."

Reed cast him a quizzical look, "of course Doctor, that's why you're down here, is it not?"

Phlox didn't say anything, just gave the guard (still holding his phaser) an indiscernible look, before proceeding towards the shuttle pod, where Mr. Tucker was being brought out on a stretcher…


	22. Chapter 22

**T'pol's Perspective**:

Mr. Tucker, as well as Captain Shran, had returned from the Kumari in a less then prime state. Merely being an observer aboard the human ship, she had been unable to ascertain any direct answers regarding their health. The guards outside of sickbay insured that, her thoughts spoke with increasingly rampant emotionalism.

However this scenario may have opened opportunities, ones that she would be sure to exploit for every possible outcome.

And despite her logical conclusion, T'pol was provided sparse peace for her solution.

Her posture was rigid, muscles aching with unrelieved stress. She had been unable to achieve anything beyond the simplest stages of meditation. The result leaving her in a very un-Vulcan like position of irritation, not to mention the other whirling emotions she had yet to identify.

It had started out faintly, all it took to squelch the minor obtrusions was ten added minutes of meditation. But then the sensations started growing, becoming more powerful, and harder to resist. She found herself fascinated by the freedom her mind was allowed to experience, it was, invigorating.

She had started to crave more, but the source was unknown. How was she going to attain more of this chaotic bliss?

It was then that she realized something was terribly wrong, the main question she should have been asking herself was why. Why am I experiencing this, and how do I stop it?

She did not feel comfortable going to the ship's physician, Denobulans were commonly known not to be the most, trustworthy, among species.

And besides, she did not feel her condition had progressed to that level. It had yet to be seen whether extensive meditation would alleviate her symptoms.

**Reed's Perspective**:

The fact that he wasn't deep asleep in his bunk right now, the fact that after finally getting a resolution to that whole damned situation-, he couldn't help but let out a strained chuckle. This was all too much, what he wouldn't give for a few hours of sleep, pure darkness, oblivious to all the problems of the universe. Some of which had taken to the form of southern commanders.

That thought sobered him up, he was being a jerk. Well, if he had expressed his opinions outside of the aching hole he called a head, then yes, he would be a jerk.

The Commander had no doubt been through hell and back, he had seen him. The way his whole body quivered as shouts of indescribable pain lanced into each and every person there to see it.

Reed shuddered, yes, his troubles were trivial in comparison.

It was then that he realized his face was reaching down towards his chest, drooping in exhaustion, instinctively trying to find a surface upon which it could rest, before he jerked it back up.

Reed was tired, too tired to deal with the problems of this twisted reality, in which his species didn't even exist.

With nothing but a sigh he rose to his feet, slowly. And with the energy of man who was beyond caring, he made his way to the turbo-lift, exiting the bridge without a word…


	23. Chapter 23

**Tucker's Perspective**:

The sheets were silken smooth, his head nestled itself even deeper into his pillow, enjoying the magnified sensations.

Everything felt so, nice.

He had nothing to worry about, all the burdens of life didn't exist here, here in this limbo between consciousness and sleep.

Occasionally he'd feel something else, something, trying to tell him? He wasn't sure.

But that voice, that voice was hard as steel, unforgiving of the weakness he was indulging.

It was a part of him, that voice, Trip knew that. But it wasn't a nice voice, so he ignored it, the call of duty be damned. He just wanted to sleep, sleep with no worries but sleep, and maybe later he'd deal with that voice. The voice of a Starfleet Officer with a duty to his crew, attempting to rouse him, to bring about the responsibility he owed them.

And later he would, but right now, everything just felt so nice…

**T'pol's Perspective**:

"May I inquire as to the Captain's wellbeing?"

T'pol stood alongside Lt. Reed, hands clasped behind her back as she attempted to maintain the façade of control she was forced to endure.

At the moment she was of half a mind to beat some sense into the Denobulan doctor, his constant talking would continue for minutes at a time, and yet still manage to avoid the main point of each conversation.

And once again, she would access whatever objectivity she still retained, and be horrified at the violent images passing through her mind. Such an emotional response would lead to the same reaction, turning her once logical, serene mind into a pit full of angry sehlats.

She no longer delved into her newfound emotions, shying back in place, too frightened to dig deeper for the horrors would only increase tenfold.

Whatever was left of her logical mind ordered her to return to the T'khut, where a Vulcan doctor, or perhaps priest, would be able to resolve her condition.

Yet she didn't, for fear had crept into the dark corners of her mind, fear of losing respect, fear of the ailments true nature. But worst of all, she was afraid to never feel again, because despite the horrible outcome of her released emotions, she could _feel_.

Such was the conflict between her separate urgings that she was left indecisive. She would have continued her monologue, but it appeared Doctor Phlox was reaching a critical piece of his explanation. And T'pol would rather not have to wait another 3.5 minutes for the anomaly to reoccur.

**Reed's Perspective**:

"The Captain had some minor tissue damage, but I have been able to repair the worst of it."

Reed listened intently, his brain finally functioning after a decent amount of sleep. "What about chemicals? Truth serums? Anything unusual in his blood stream?"

Not that Malcom didn't have faith in Phlox's ability, far from it. When it came to the medical side of life, there was probably no one he trusted more.

But they had to know if any sensitive information had been leaked. Well, considering that they hadn't even had enough time to even decipher the ships systems yet, it wasn't tactical information at risk. More so the truth of their whereabouts, and that could lead to some very uncomfortable discussions, most likely at phaser point.

"At present we have not discovered any, however there are tests that have yet to finish." Phlox turned to the monitor over Mr. Tucker's bio-bed.

The doctor tapped a few times, bringing up a diagram of-

"The Captains brain shows signs of severe stress, the amount shown here is in stark contrast to his last scans."

Reed shook his head lightly, "Doctor, we've all been under stress lately, and have more than enough reason to."

Phlox brought up a different angle, examining it before shutting off the monitor's connection.

The pictures blinked out, replaced with the Commander's bio-signs.

"No lieutenant, these levels are a sign of artificial interference, on a scale I haven't seen before. If you have anything to worry about, it is most certainly not the Captains _physical_ health"…


	24. Chapter 24

**Phlox's Perspective**:

"If I may speak with the Lieutenant alone, Commander?"

He had nearly called the Vulcan Sub-Commander, given that the Captain had already made a similar error concerning Soval, it was fortunate that he had not.

But while arousing suspicion was the last thing he wanted, it did seem improbable that they would be able to keep up this charade indefinitely. Although Phlox would, at the moment, rather leave that to the Captain, acting or not.

And that brought him back to the present, where he was to be the bearer of grim news.

That was the only problem with being a Doctor, for as long as the profession had existed, there was always this responsibility, and Phlox would not wish it upon anyone.

"Lieutenant-" he paused until the sickbay doors swished shut behind the retreating Vulcan.

He let out a breath, exhaled alongside the pain of his remorse, leaving the Denobulan's body as peacefully as it could. He had failed his duty, and acknowledging that would be among the first steps he must take. But right now there wasn't time for that, objectivity on the situation was required if he were to continue his job. Later he would grieve, that was promised.

"Lieutenant, I'm afraid there is a problem, it concerns the _real_ Captain".

**Reed's Perspective**:

An invisible hand clutched at his heart, the beating halted as his panic stricken mind searched for, for- for something dammit! He just didn't know what.

He looked Phlox in the eyes, his silent query strong enough to move mountains, yet he didn't feel especially strong right now. No, he felt more, weak. As if all the strength had been drained from his reserves.

"Lieutenant, I have done everything I can, but-"

"But _what_ Doctor." He growled, feet taking him back and forth, pacing furiously.

"There must be something you can do." His voice had taken on a more plaintive tone, but the anger was still there. Anger he was unable to direct, to blame on anyone or anything. He slumped down in one of the visitor chairs, face in his palm.

"His cellular structure is literally degenerating, it is beyond the capabilities of modern science, even on this vessel, to save him."

Reed wanted to argue, to fight. But one look at the Doctor gave him the sense he needed not to. He wasn't the only one taking this hard. Phlox was going to be beating himself up over this, _and he'd better_.

_No!_ With a shaky resolve Reed crushed those stray thoughts, barbaric as they were there was no place in his mind for such childish finger pointing. He would face this like a man, and Jonathan Archer, would not be forgotten…


	25. Chapter 25

**Shran's Perspective**:

Blasted pinkskins, he saved their Captain and then what do they do? They lock him in a room and call it _guest quarters_.

The minute his immediate medical needs had been dealt with they tossed him in here and stationed a guard outside.

But as much as his anger sat with the humans, he couldn't in all honesty blame these people. Their Captain had been taken and brutally tortured by his crew, if their roles were reversed Shran was positive Tucker would be meeting a fate far worse than simple confinement.

And Tarah, Shran's fists clenched at the mere thought of the traitor. Her arrogance had cost her the prisoner, and now it would cost her life.

The second his crew heard he was well and very much alive, she would probably be shot on the spot. His face split into a feral grin, part of him hoping Tarah would still be clinging to the filth she called a life when he arrived. He wanted to see the look of horror, frozen on her face as she died.

**Tucker's Perspective**:

It was kinda fuzzy, his memory that is. There was something about heat, and- and an explosion? No, no that wasn't it. Well there had to be some explanation for-, whatever was happening.

Trip gazed into the ceiling of sickbay, his blank eyes unresponsive, be it to the chirps of Phlox's creatures, or the unfocused thoughts drifting through his mind.

Everything was white, the ceiling, the bed, even the curtains separating him from the rest of the ship.

So he lay in silence, the numerous drugs pumping through his system not helping as he struggled to contemplate what had landed him in sickbay.

Suddenly a figure slipped through the curtain, it's short hair and pointy ears making her easy to identify, even in his current state.

His head turned to look at her, a dumb grin plastered widely over its contents. He knew T'pol, she was nice, a friend. Trip's glazed eyes followed her as she moved to kneel by his bedside.

A giggle worked its way past his mouth, was she gonna read him a story?

A Vulcan bedtime story? This time it was a fit of giggles, he wanted to say something, but the words couldn't seem to formulate in his mouth, let alone his brain.

She was reaching her hand forwards, now that was weird, he thought. Vulcans don't like to be touched, right?

As her fingers connected with the side of his face a jolt of energy seemed to flow through him, rapturing his attention on the sensation.

Was it coming from T'pol's hand?

"My mind, to your mind, My thoughts, to your thoughts."

Trip listened to the mesmerizing words, each one captivating his mind in its childlike state. His eyes were wide as he stared straight ahead, directly at the ceiling, at the spotless white surface.

"Our minds are merging, our minds are one"…


	26. Chapter 26

**Phlox's Perspective**:

The Denobulan had re-entered the main part of sickbay to retrieve certain paper work, and to monitor the tests he was running on Mr. Tucker.

But not two steps out of his office and there was the distinct sound of a shoe on liquid. _His_ shoe to be precise, the liquid was clear, bringing it to his nose for a cautious sniff (you couldn't be too careful) confirmed that it was crewman Cutler's most recent experiment, a study she was conducting.

However how it had spilled over the floor was another matter, she knew not to so much as touch it, lest to contaminate the results.

It appeared to-, well it was coming from around the corner actually.

Striding purposefully towards the bend, the physician muttered to himself, Cutler had always been clumsy but it wasn't like her to leave a mess untended. Eyes were lifted from his attempts to avoid stepping in the liquid substance as he reached the turn.

Phlox paused, regarding the sight before him in wide eyed shock as the padd slipped from his fingers, clattering noisily on the wet floor.

Crewman Cutler was strewn on the ground, her arms holding limp over the stream of blood spewing from a wound on her torso.

The horrifying sight was compounded by a gash running down the side of her face, with a trickle of the same red substance dripping to the floor, the white color contrasting in a horrible image.

It took moments, slow, dream-like moments before he snapped out of his shock. At least, enough to realize there was a voice emitting from behind the Commander's curtain.

Phlox gulped, while it was very possible that Mr. Tucker was experiencing hallucinations, and the voice was low enough not to be identified with any certainty, there were serious doubts in his mind that it was the Commander who had assaulted Crewman Cutler.

Eyes trained on the curtained area, Phlox backed towards the comm panel. Looking for any signs of movement or violent actions taking place behind the cloth barrier.

A sudden crunch brought the source of his vigil downwards. He had stepped on a shard of glass, the only remains from the experiment's fateful closure. Fearful eyes snapped back towards the voice, it had stopped, apprehension gripped at the Denobulan's insides, he could only hope his death would be quick and painless. Devoid of the agony that seemed to have been present in the crewman lying dea-.

As the Doctor he was, a self-served mental slap resounded in his ears. She mightn't be dead yet, with shaking digits Phlox reached down to feel her pulse. Having not made much progress towards the comm panel, he was still in close enough proximity to not have to bend so much.

With his hand practically vibrating, Phlox could still feel the beat, weak though it was. She was losing blood fast, immediate medical attention was called for. But-

With a fleeting glance at the covered figures, at where no voices were coming from, the determined resolve he had so counted on to save dozens of patients was completely absent.

Call security, the time difference may very well cost the dying woman's life, but ignore the threat ten feet away from him, and risk not only himself and Mr. Tucker, but everyone aboard the Enterprise.

With time running out, and it getting to the point where neither plan would have a chance of success, he was forced to make a decision…


	27. Chapter 27

**T'pol's Perspective**:

The irony that she, a Vulcan, was utilizing the control of a human, did not escape her. However the necessity, as such, was great enough to warrant invading the Captain's mind.

And as she completed the words of this ancient rite, as two minds became one, the life forces of both intertwined.

The raging storm that was her mind calmed not in the slightest, and as the swirling tides threatened to immerse her in their mighty grasp, as the roiling sky thundered and lighting split the sky, and the last patch of dry sand she stood upon. She remembered she wasn't alone.

The visualization of chaos that had such in her mind threatened the very core of her being, her existence. Was to the Captain, an untrained, undisciplined, and at the moment drugged, mind, was lost among the waves.

The Vulcan was at her last reserves, for a species with no experience in telepathy, the human would last mere minutes.

The screams reached her, and she could see a form bobbing in the horror that was her essence, struggling to stay above the water for his lack of dry land.

She hesitated at the entering of her turmoil, at the facing of her worst fears, but the feet had a mind of their own.

T'pol set off at a sprint, splashing through the water as the level rose higher and higher up her body, until she could stand no longer, the Vulcan plunging head first into the freezing depths.

Underneath the waves, where the rain could be seen penetrating the surface, the sounds muffled by the pressure, it seemed almost, mystical. As if this phenomenon represented none of the hell she had come to associate it with, for even chaos had stability if you can but find it.

The swirling depths seemed to grow deeper, as if attempting to combat her sudden source of strength. But with newfound resolve strong in the face of this monstrosity that had taken residence within her mind, she swam on.

Stroke after stroke until she thought her arms would fall off, and yet she continued, the helpless Captain nearing with every movement, only for the waves to knock her back. But she wasn't fazed, she had found the weakness of her own sub-conscious, one that would lead to the salvation she so desperately craved.

After an eternity of effort, the last vestiges of strength nearing their end, she glanced him through the storm, he was close, oh so close!

Her strokes doubled in power and speed, for a reason she couldn't understand she knew him to be that which she sought. He was the one that would end her torture, end her captivity at the hands of these violent emotions.

The Vulcan's hands fumbled on his blue uniform, grasping the soaked garment and pulling him closer, clutching at his back as he held onto her shoulders for dear life.

She closed her eyes, holding him crushed against her in an inhumanly strong grip, afraid to let go of her only companion in this place of nightmares.

But as their minds connected, truly connected, the contact between their skins serving as a conduit of sorts, it, changed.

The rain lightened until none could be felt, the black clouds faded and the sun arose from its hiding.

And the water, waves receded into the horizon, leaving the two beings to lie on a beach, basked in sunlight.

T'pol gazed in awe at the spectacle, in all its beauty that had come so abruptly.

She looked down at the human as he sobbed, his face tucked into the crook of her neck as he vented all his fear and confusion in the only way he knew how. She tightened her embrace around the man, resolved to give him the strength he needed, the strength he had given her.

A memory struck, its power incredible as it played before her eyes.

"_My friends call me Trip"_…


	28. Chapter 28

**Reed's Perspective**:

They had gotten the message from Dr. Phlox about four minutes ago.

And so to them, the squad of security men followed by an emergency medical team sprinting down the corridor was not in the slightest detail anything but appropriate.

However he could imagine the panic and confusion left in their wake as they stormed through the Enterprise. Crewmen ducking to the side as they went about their business were blissfully unaware that two of their senior officers were at risk.

He had decided that the risk of losing the infiltrator by alerting the entire ship to their presence was too great. Hopefully they could still catch them, and before any serious damage was done.

What Reed didn't understand was how another assassin had managed to get onboard. If either ship had tried to use the transporter, it would have been blocked by their shields, and while there _was_ a short period of time where they had been down for examination by the engineering teams. It would have been detected by sensors.

They were nearing the sickbay doors, the-

He almost stopped right there, a smack to his forehead impending.

They were already on the ship, greeted personally with open hearts at airlock two.

She'd played them well, he'd give her that. Maybe it was just that she seemed so like their T'pol. Well, the one from their timeline anyway, he doubted she would have assented to them naming her in a possessive fashion. He almost felt like chuckling, but then reality came crashing down around him as they reached the entrance to sickbay.

He could only pray they weren't too late.

**T'pol's Perspective**:

There were birds in the distance, too far away to be seen, but their call resounding over the ocean whose waves gently lapped at the shore.

She sat in a cross legged position, meditating by the foam that came with each wave, mesmerized as it dissipated back into the blue from which it left.

The tranquility, the peace of everything around them, she had never known Earth possessed such wonders.

And once there was another flash, a flicker of understanding, of a life she might have lived.

She felt what he felt, she knew what he knew, two Katras became one in this sacred binding.

And yet she also knew that there, in his universe, mind melds were illegal, considered a crime punishable by exile.

Trip, as she had taken to referring him as, lay on the sand. His head in her lap as he snored gently, the soft rumblings easing her slip into meditation.

She could imagine the frustration she would normally be prone to, to have this human interrupting her time of relaxation, rejuvenation. But now, in this place, it did nothing but soothe her as she timed her strokes accordingly, running her hand gently through his hair as he rested.

He looked so peaceful, it might take time to repair the damage done to his mind, but she would be here, wa-

Her back arched suddenly, face contorted in pain as her body started shaking violently, throwing Trip off into the sand.

She could feel the link breaking, connection severing as she was wracked with unimaginable pain, before everything went dark.

**Reed's Perspective**:

He removed the shock stick from her back, watching as the Vulcan's body fell to the floor shivering. The volts of electricity coursing through her body.

A scream whipped his head up, the Commander in his bed as he jerked around aimlessly, before slumping back into the bunk, unconscious.

Reed stared from Vulcan to human, eyes wide in confusion…


	29. Chapter 29

**Soval's Perspective**:

Soval stood in auxiliary control, the bridge still under heavy maintenance due to their encounter with both the Andorians and Humans.

For all intents and purposes this was a just as, if not more efficient way of operating the ship. And yet the confined space and lack of a command chair were only part of what was irking him.

Of course he would never admit to that, his Vulcan pride demanded that he be logical in the most emotional of situations. However alone, among his own thoughts, he could not but help himself of the tiniest sensations. He was not a fool though, these lapses were limited fiercely, allowing him a small indulgence only when he felt it was beneficial.

"We are receiving a priority one hail Captain". Reported a female Vulcan at the communications station.

Soval raised an eyebrow, "The Enterprise?"

"Affirmative, they state the nature is a medical emergency-," the woman waited until the full message came through, "Commander T'pol is in need of a Vulcan physician".

Soval wasted no time considering the endless possibilities, T'pol had been injured, and required medical assistance so that is what would transpire. "Alert Dr. T'pring to meet us in shuttle bay two-"

"Captain, the humans offer to use their transporter in concern that a shuttle pod will delay their arrival."

_T'pol must be seriously injured_, a drop of apprehension trickled its way through his mind, it's very presence reinforcing the need for more meditation.

However Soval did not currently have time for such-

"_Their_ arrival Major?" he had been distracted to the point of mishearing his subordinate, a troubling realization indeed.

"Yes, they repeat that time is of the essence."

Allowing them to enter the T'khut was a high security risk, normally Soval would be unwilling to accept that condition, however these circumstances were far from normalcy.

"Grant permission and lower shields, keep sensors on the Kumari's weapons and be prepared to return fire if necessary".

**Phlox's Perspective**:

Phlox had always associated with the transporter a severe dizzying sensation that assaulted the user, the effects were most unpleasant. Although he utilized it rarely, the experiences had dissuaded him from suggesting it as a viable option, unless the need was absolutely dire.

However despite his lack of comfort with it, himself and two security crewmen were standing on the transporter pad, the sedated Vulcan held between them.

Lt. Reed hovered anxiously in the background, a stance Phlox had rarely seen him in, it was certainly far from the reserved manner he normally posed.

"Are you sure this is safe?"

The other Lieutenant sighed in exasperation, and Phlox was quite aware of the reason. Mr. Reed had asked that question four times now, if he wasn't mistaken.

"Yes, and I've _told_ you that-"

"Okay okay, I'm sorry, I-, I'm just nervous." He interrupted her tirade before it had a chance to start, the stricken look on his face worsening as his frown deepened, his gaze diverted back to the pad. "I've never trusted these bloody things."

Once again, most uncharacteristic of the Tactical Officer, Phlox would have to re-evaluate his mental situation when they had the time.

The engineer must have noticed his discomfort, for she lent a supportive hand on his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze.

The look sent back Hess's way would best be described as befuddled, but Reed accepted the gesture without comment.

In Humans, like many species, the female was considered to be both the gentlest and the fiercer of the two genders. One would do well to avoid the invoking the latter.

However interesting as that might be, there did happen to be a medical emergency at the moment.

"Lieutenants?" the Denobulan did not need to speak more, his message clearly conveyed by the drooping Vulcan to his right.

"Of course Doctor," murmured the Englishman, his attempts to fight the blush spreading on his face for naught.

Phlox closed his eyes, it would be easier, he assured himself.

He had left crewman Cutler in the most capable hands of his assistants, now that she was not in critical condition, their care should be more than adequate. They had been lucky, he knew that without the technology on this ship she would have died without question.

He focused his thoughts, trying to ignore his apprehension as the machine came to life.

"Energizing"…


	30. Chapter 30

**Tucker's Perspective**:

He didn't know how long he'd been awake, but he was positive that if you measured the pounding in his skull, you'd know to the hundredth second. It just seemed to worsen continually, no respite from its aching torture.

It took great effort, but eventually the whites of his eyes were revealed, open just a crack as he squinted against the blinding light.

He lifted his leaden arm, shaking as he gripped the bed side for support, face contorted as the flashes of pain lanced up his arm and through his body.

Bracing himself for the inevitable as he prepared to launch into a sitting position, he maneuvered his back to the side against his pillow, wincing at the cracks of his spine. He must have really been lying here a while.

_Best to get this over with fast_, he propped himself against the pillow fully, hands gripping the sides of the bio-bed. With a shaky breath he bolted up against the wall behind him, pushing off either side of the bed-

"Argghhhh! Dammit!" The searing agony that lanced through his entire self-

Another yelp spoke for his thoughts, with body quivering he collapsed to the mattress, landing on his back.

As he gazed at the spotless white ceiling, the dizziness he had worked up wreaked havoc on the few parts of him that weren't spiking with white hot pain.

Suddenly a head obscured his vision, slightly blurry as she looked him over, the worry clearly evident on her face. She moved more to the side, probably checking his vitals or whatever doctors do these days.

Trip didn't bother to look in her direction, it wasn't worth the effort, or the pain.

"How-" he paused, taking another breath. His voice was raspy, enough to make him wince.

"How long?" he managed to cough out, his throat dry and hurting from the effort.

"Sir you just rest, we've taken care of everything."

Although he wanted to protest, and didn't believe that supposedly comforting bit of news. He really was too tired to deal with this crap right now, yeah, later sounded good.

_Might as well be comfy_, he thought as he settled himself further into the rock of a bed they kept in sickbay, eyelids sliding closed as he drifted into a deep sleep.

**Soval's Perspective**:

T'pol had been brought into the infirmary one hour and twelve minutes ago, Dr. T'pring's analysis coincided with that of the Denobulan's, extreme exposure to an unidentified neuro-toxin.

However, that had been her prognosis forty-seven minutes previously, as such Soval strode through the corridors, heading towards sickbay in order to ascertain a more detailed report on T'pol's condition.

As the door was reached without incident, a view of his officer was revealed upon the sections sliding from his path.

The sight was, disturbing, especially for a Vulcan of his indulgences. The various assortments of medical equipment surrounding and attached to her frame did not raise the Captain's hopes for a healthy recovery.

"Captain".

He tore his gaze away from the bio-bed, meeting Dr. T'pring's with as much detachment as he could muster against the growing emotional tide.

"Yes Doctor?" this did not seem an occasion to lift his eyebrow.

"We have arrived at a conclusion for Commander T'pol's condition, her neural pathways have been severely damaged-"

"I read your original report Doctor, what I need to know is why". He managed to keep most of the bite from his tone.

Her eyebrow elevated in response, "Trellium-D"…


	31. Chapter 31

**Medical Assistant's Perspective**:

Mary worried too much, that's what her parents had said, what her friends said, hell, even she said that.

When she had been posted to the Enterprise she was ecstatic, that was, until she started fretting about every possible scenario. As it turned out, number three on her list wasn't so baseless. In fact, not two hours into Humanity's first deep space mission and _**BAM**_, the Suliban decided the Enterprise would look better in eighths.

And now this, stuck where earth was a lifeless rubble and the entire universe seemed upside-down. Well, that wasn't true exactly, but when your species was practically extinct you were entitled to some exaggeration.

A sigh escaped her lips, irritation evident to the empty room. Well, not completely empty, she glanced down at the unconscious Captain Archer, famous for getting his crew and his ship safely away against all the odds.

A saddened smirk graced her features, he couldn't get them out of this, no, not this time, not even himself.

A single tear slid down her cheek as she pressed the hypo-spray into his shoulder, they didn't deserve this, especially not Jo-, no, she couldn't, wouldn't even think his name. That was not how he was known to this crew, and it was not how they would remember him. He would find peace, not only for himself but for the entire remainder of humanity.

She watched above his bio-bed as the spikes flattened out, his heart slowing, until only a flat line remained. She let the tears fall freely, losing herself in the flow as the sobs wracked her body uncontrollably, gripping the side of the bed till her knuckles turned white.

One thought ran amuck through her mind, its calmness frightening in such vibrant turmoil, _one less thing to worry about_.

**Phlox's Perspective**:

After arranging a scan, it turned out that the Enterprise hull was insulated with Trellium-D, one of the upgrades supplied from the mysterious beings.

Had the T'khut been equipped with functional scanners, they would've noticed immediately, and no Vulcan would have stepped foot onto the human vessel, no harm would've come to T'pol.

He should have known, should've been more careful, it would have been a simple matter once they were in the decompression chamber to scan both Soval and herself. Over the course of the week there might have been multiple appointments, anything, just one would have been enough to detect something was wrong, so terribly wrong.

In a manner indicative of the humans he served with, the Denobulan's hands engulfed his face, rubbing the sore eyes that plagued his existence.

He stood there a moment, enjoying the pure blackness, anything but the sight of the Vulcan lying there, the Vulcan that had been his responsibility. Not only for this altered timeline, but for the last two years, he should've known.

And of the Captain, Captain Archer, one of the most, extraordinary men, human or not, that he had ever known, had ever had the honor of serving with.

Phlox rarely shed tears, being a Doctor, you were almost always the one to give support, to present a shoulder for leaning. One with whom the burden lied, forever wondering if you could have done more, just-, well, anything! Anything to prevent the atrocities life was forced to deal, and in this case, he was the one holding a deck.

He was the person who held power over life and death.

There was a saying he always knew to be profound, and yet it was only at times like this he would understand.

"The bullet may end a life, but a scalpel can end a soul." He murmured it softly, no doubt heard clearly by the Vulcans so near him. But those words, such, depth, the likes of which were rarely heard.

For these weapons, these tools of destruction might destroy the shell, might bring death to those in its path, but it could not kill the spirit. One that walked the fields of life, forever and always in it's seldom harmony, for that's what life was, the bad would overweigh the good, crushing its sparkle of light in the cold unforgiving grasp of darkness. The conscience you hold so dear strangling the breath from your lungs.

And like that it would remain, buried under oppression, until something changed, unless peace was made within you, and when the beat of your heart ended, the soul would live on. Not in the way religion would have it, and not even in the memories of loved ones, but in yourself, in the last seconds of life you breathe with tranquility.

This did not mean accepting your death, but rather knowing it for the curse it was. So that when the end came, those final moments would last an eternity, never ending against the flow of time.

With the scalpel, it all changed. The trust bestowed upon the bearer left their spirit defenseless, for it was not the patient to be worried about. A healer worked with the purpose of helping life, the wielder of weapons to end life, even if not by liking, it was their responsibility to utilize the destruction they were bound to inflict.

To have that purpose was not a sin, and neither was a mistake made by a doctor, it was how they lived with their actions that determined the placement.

And as of right now, Dr. Phlox could not live with either…

_**(Okay okay, I know this is really dark and very confusing, but I felt that something deep was necessary right around now, but I'm not very good with philosophy, so please leave your thoughts in the reviews section. Thanks for reading!) **_

_**(On another note, I am aware that I left out the fact that being forced to end a life is also a burden, I just wanted to cover two completely different perspectives, I'm sorry if this bothers anyone.) **_


	32. Chapter 32

**Tucker's Perspective**:

The blinding light assailed vision, brightness increased tenfold for his bleary eyes. He shut them tight instinctively, waiting for the spots under his lids to dissipate before slowly blinking them back up.

Trip groaned, shrugging his shoulders while shifting his legs underneath the thin metallic blanket that covered him.

Well, at least there wasn't pain, just, stiffness.

With a speed cruel to sentient life, he inch by inch shuffled around the bio-bed, swinging his legs over the side.

First things first, he needed to-

A loud crack in his spine startled the engineer, having not even noticed the tension that built up while he was off having beauty sleep, and who knows what the crew had been forced to deal with.

_Hess had better not have finished those system inspections_.

With that thought in mind, and others less personally motivated, he slid himself onto the numb feet that had yet to waken. His legs wobbled slightly, but with a fiery resolve he quelled the unwanted movement, demanding of himself the balance that was necessary.

A clatter of feet resounded through sickbay, causing Trip to whip his head in their direction, searching for the possible threat. He wasn't sure why he felt so, jumpy? No, no that wasn't it, he just felt odd.

Yeah, odd, weird, whatever, all he knew was that it definitely wasn't normal.

T'pol?

Wait, why was he thinking about her? _There had been that dream_, he shivered, that, had not been a dream, it was a nightmare. At least, right up until the end, but then there was the pain, like a thousand volts just coursing through him.

Shaking his head clear of all the confusion, he would figure it out later, that he promised himself.

On the other hand, it was probably whatever drugs Phlox had pumped into him, no doubt he'd be a little woozy for a few days to come.

_Screw it, I'm not lying in that bed another second_.

Hopefully he wouldn't make any bad decisions, the blue guys had pushed a little too far, and now they were gonna learn that humans shoved back.

**Reed's Perspective**:

The bridge was unerringly silent, nothing but the movements of bodies and the beeps of machinery was to be heard.

Malcom, as was want in situations of late, fidgeted.

It was a bloody annoying habit, but perhaps at the moment, called for. The list just went on and on, and although it was only two officers incapacitated, three if you counted T'pol, the repercussions were literally endless.

Once again, he felt the tyrannical grip of anger and sadness clutch at his insides, he had never known the Captain on a personal level, not like Commander Tucker or Ensign Sato did.

However Reed doubted he ever would have, it just wasn't, his- style, yes, he supposed that word fit. Because unlike the majority of the Enterprise crew, he was a strict believer in military discipline, and well, being strict in general.

When, to his dismay, the Captain turned out as one of the most laid back superiors he'd ever encountered, shocked was to say the least. In fact Malcom had even disdained the Captain, not to his pride, but the name "Archer" undoubtedly carried some weight in the world of politics.

But in some, way, he couldn't fathom how, it worked. The Enterprise operated beyond statistical estimates, the crew responding in prime to their commanding officer's more relaxed system. And over time, he had come to respect Captain Archer, despite the gaping differences that obtruded that particular path.

The comm unit went off, with a light smack to the left armrest he thoroughly enjoyed the interruption, his thoughts had taken a most depressing turn that, if he was honest with himself, would not like to see finished.

"Sickbay to bridge".

The voice wafting through the speaker was decidedly, feminine, overly so in fact. _Bloody hell, I must be __**really**__ bored._

"Reed here", he responded with a certain sharpness in his tone, a good sign, maybe even his fidgeting would stop.

_One step at a time, one step at a time._

"Lieutenant, it-, it's the Commander Sir, he's awake, and um, well not very happy Sir."

It wasn't implausible that Tucker was still experiencing hallucinatory effects, he opened another channel.

"Reed to security, send two crewmen to-"

He was interrupted by the woman from sickbay, her voice fractionally more hectic.

"No no! Lieutenant it's not like that."

With a huff through his nostrils he responded, "Then what _is_ it like crewman?"

"Well Sir, you might uh, want to come down here"…


	33. Chapter 33

**Tucker's Perspective**:

His arms flew to the ceiling, for the briefest of seconds before falling back down to fold over his chest.

He tried to focus on the breathing, increasingly difficult as his pacing took him back and forth across the all too small confines of such a godforsaken room.

He was literally bouncing off the walls, when he got out of here, oh boy, was someone going to get a piece of his mind.

A low growl escaped the engineer's mouth, lips twitching as feet paused momentarily, indulging himself with an optical sweep around the room. But it was no use, this place was designed like a brig. The only way you got _out_ was by someone _out_side, no exceptions.

_Why is this room so small_?!

And just to top it off, what the hell was he doing here in the first place?!

His thoughts continued to rage silently, while his body responded in a much more, physical, manner.

The breathing that filled the room became ragged, the footsteps echoing off the walls rose in volume as the movements became more succinct, more mechanical and heavy.

With an angry jab he slammed the comm panel, "would someone let me outta here goddamn it!"

**Reed's Perspective**:

"Why is Commander Tucker locked in decon?" Reed turned back to look at the Ensign, who at the moment was positively blushing, combined with the stammering it made communication almost impossible.

"Well Sir, he-, he was awake, and umm, well Sir he-" she paused, pleading with her gaze for, something.

Well he wasn't going to finish her explanation for her, "Yes Ensign?" he prompted mercilessly, this was her doing, she would explain it as her senior officer commanded.

And he'd be lying if he said there wasn't some small part inside of him laughing hysterically, the video feed of the decon chamber clearly displayed the southerner's frustration. With his mutterings and grumbles, and the entire time pacing all over the room, under different circumstances it would be downright hilarious.

However he had a feeling things weren't going to be so laughable in a few moments.

"Sir he wanted to leave, an-and I told him that he couldn't until he was cleared for duty. But-"

"But he kept on trying, didn't he?" Reed sighed, if he knew their chief engineer as well as-, well you actually didn't need to know him that well in order to find that vicious stubborn streak of his.

"Yes Lieutenant, he was, very in-,insistent Sir." She mumbled, her eyes cast downwards at the floor.

"I seriously doubt the Commander submitted to confinement Ensign."

That got him a dirty look, a split second before it slid away, leaving her face just as blank as before.

Well, if you counted a quivering lip and puppy dog eyes as blank, then yes, it was perfectly spotless.

_Now that was odd_.

A second later he dismissed it, she was probably going through a lot having done-, whatever it was she had done.

"Respond!"

That was the second demand, or at least, of the ones he had heard. Judging from the look of exasperation on her face, Reed would guess he himself had been absent for a few of the Commander's tantrums.

He sent the Ensign a meaningful look, eyes were squinted and mouth perfectly flat, face alone conveying his question.

"Sir he wouldn't even let me run a scan, just kept limping to the doors so I-, well I-" her face was flustered, blinking constantly and stuttering the words.

"I had to sedate him Sir" she responded meekly, no doubt replaying the horrible fate she had envisioned for herself.

For his part Malcom just kept perfectly still, "And so before he woke up, you moved him to decon."

It wasn't a question.

And as such, no response was forthcoming, the Ensigns eyes were glued to the sickbay floor as the pink tint in her cheeks deepened to a dull red.

Reed sighed, a new hobby of his. In the past week, his three immediate superior officers had all fallen to some type of incapacitation. Leaving he himself to deal with all the troubles and intricacies of "negotiating" with pissed off Andorians.

Day one, the Xindi attack earth.

Day two, hell freezes over.

Day three, the Enterprise gets kicked like a lost puppy.

Day four-

The list just went on and on and on.

But fortunately, it wasn't his job to complain. Had it been the crew would've tossed him out an airlock long before now.

"Run a scan, see if we can let him out." That said he turned to walk away, making it to the sickbay doors before he twisted around, "Oh, and Ensign?"

"Yes Lieutenant?"

She appeared to be less nervous, _is that good or bad_? He wasn't sure, but there was something about this woman, something, that just seemed, off. But until he was allowed to arrest people on sight, his "feeling", would have to wait.

"Dammit!"

Reed cringed at the expression of vulgarity, the volume just tore at your ears, and the static, oh god, the system's whines were almost unbearable.

But if anyone was to discover the optimum method of misuse, his bet had always been on Tucker.

"Sir?"

Reed's attention was snapped back to reality, where his sarcasm had little place.

"You might want to turn that bloody thing off"…


	34. Chapter 34

**Phlox's Perspective**:

The prospect of returning to the Enterprise could not have arrived at a better time.

Upon hearing the Lieutenant's words, his spirits had jumped at the chance of distancing himself from the T'khut, not to mention its inhabitants. It was not that Phlox was prejudiced, far from it. However there was something about their, coldness, that he could take only in refined doses.

Yes, it would indeed be welcome to leave the Vulcan's their sickbay, and he was more than convinced as to their ability, doubly so when treating _their_ Commander. In fact, he might say it superseded his own, perhaps even with the benefit of Enterprise's new medical facilities.

And besides, he wasn't of much use here. Dr. T'pring insisted on occupying him with the most menial tasks, while he was more than capable of assisting her in their endeavor. However, the shame of mistakes kept his tongue tight, refraining from making any comment that could be perceived as negative. And so he remained silent, speaking only when it was absolutely necessary.

He was reminded of his time in the medical exchange program, the human's would constantly gripe over the condescending attitude of their Vulcan associates. Phlox himself had dismissed their grumbles as nothing more than petty misgivings.

In their role, the Vulcan's care could easily be misinterpreted as cold and frankly, yes, condescending. However when likened to that of a parent, their unforgiving attitude and perhaps even arrogance, were indeed explained. For that is what the humans needed, what almost any immature species needed, to grow, thrive, and eventually develop the stability to stand on their own, unaided by the "parent", unaided by the Vulcans.

And as such in any child/parent relationship, matters will go awry with the swiftness of warp speed. The child, while learning from their guardian, begins to want more, they chafe at the collar society has dictated. Why can't they do this? Who is to say they aren't ready?

They are slow to recognize the danger such rebellious actions invite, and even if they did, probability states they'd still be there with arms outstretched, welcoming the excitement, the thrill they gain from taking such a risk.

In all, the inhabitants of earth, the ones that _had_ existed, were children, (At least, to the interstellar community). They displayed all the similar characteristics, and most prominently was their "rebellious nature".

And so, in all good conscience, Phlox couldn't very well alter his opinion of such proceedings for only his position. Frustration was prone to any species, and that included Vulcans, even though you'd never here one say it.

His communicator chirped, the device buzzing in his pocket, with a fluent motion he retrieved the machine, putting it up to his chest "Phlox here".

"We are ready to transport Doctor".

Now _that_ got him started, awoken him from his philosophical dream state he quickly began the protests forefront in his mind.

"I'd rather, if at all possible, another means of transportation was arranged, I do hav-"

His words were silenced as aboard another ship, the whine of machinery was to be heard, and the good Doctor's molecules were disassembled…


	35. Chapter 35

**T'pol's Perspective**:

The illogic, the inane aspect to their behavior, was most disturbing. And it was the fact that she, her condition, had progressed to such a state of disrepair as to feel this emotion. The realization sent a spike of fear through her system, accompanied by the indiscernible chaos that had become such a commodity.

However it was not alone, for beside the roiling mass of destruction lay something else. Something, beautiful. The very essence of peace and tranquility seemed to permeate from its depths, a blinding light, its pureness calming in the face of such torment.

She could only guess as to its origin, her mind dulled by an absurdity of overbearing sensations.

The meld, that she remembered with painful clarity, the extremes of both darkness and light tearing into her Katra. She would have shuddered, but such was her condition that an outward expression of emotion was simply not worth the effort.

_Was it him? Commander Tucker_?

No, upon focusing his visage T'pol could only feel, anger, one among others in the cascade of emotions, although it's presence was decidedly prominent.

She should have been shocked, mortified even. But to the Vulcan's mind, and to that of her logic, flawed as it was, her actions appeared, exonerated.

The injury dealt to an unknown medical assistant, an unfortunate outcome, however the risk to her mission was unquestionable.

Perhaps more serious was the meld she had forced upon Captain Tu-, Commander, Tucker. Once again T'pol was forced to correct herself, such lapses growing to the point of irritation.

Her knowledge, his knowledge, both participant's subterfuge, the entirety of the situation was difficult to comprehend, let alone document.

Had it been worth it? What would her fellow Vulcans say were they to know such details?

_No_, she quelled those rampant thoughts, illogically pleased when they dissipated. She had dealt with the situation as necessity demanded, and while the effects were, distasteful, she had completed her objective, obtaining this information was of the utmost importance.

Regardless of her moral values, the stolen thoughts swirling about in her mind possessed the potential to save Vulcan, and to demolish the threat of Andoria itself…

**Phlox's Perspective**:

The room was, spinning, violently.

No doubt the result of-

Monologue cut short, the disorientation bouncing in his skull worsened, his thought process inoculated from any coherency.

Indeed the flashes that did pass his mind appeared frivolous, and yet the darkness, the significance could not be denied.

One who has experienced the claws of denial, the lash of guilt or the fires of hatred could not, would not choose to ignore such thoughts.

For those whose hearts do fall the depths, the pits of our five upholders, they are such to understand that purity of mind is not an eternal option. That remaining clean, free from the taint of sin is but a luxury ill afforded.

However Dr. Phlox, while undeniably a man of this crop, did not currently possess the facilities necessary for such an in depth analysis. Rather the concept, floated, through his mind as his stricken gaze met the ceiling.

**Reed's Perspective**:

The Denobulan lay on his back, facing upwards as the normally bright eyes were presented in their glazed confusion.

"What happened?!" shock of the Doctor's entrance were obvious on the Lieutenant's face, professionalism thrown to the wind.

The crewman operating the transporter met his glare with all the dignity it appeared he could muster, not nearly enough.

_That's for damn sure_.

"There was a glitch in the power system Sir."

He didn't stop to consider "feelings", or even proper etiquette for dealing with a subordinate, he'd had it through with diplomacy.

"Well then find the problem and fix it _crewman_." The Englishman's tone was harsh, cold, unforgiving as the cold of winter. The emphasis on rank only serving to deepen its chill.

With proper motivation the crewman jumped to work, anything to avoid the death stare projected by the entirety of his face.

"Reed to sickbay, prepare for an emergency medical situation."

He almost thought he could hear a sigh in the background…

_**(Note: Five Upholders is a terminology I created, it is a reference to the five major emotions. Which in essence uphold our way of life.)**_


	36. Chapter 36

**Soval's Perspective**:

The Denobulan had been last among the Enterprise crew to depart. Through the means of this matter/energy transporter Dr. Phlox had left, personal volition notwithstanding.

Unbidden came the memory of his protests, abruptly ended as the body appeared, engulfed, in blue light, before seemingly disintegrating.

Once again he lowered his eyes, Commander T'pol lay in his view, staring.

Simply, staring, at the ceiling, the wall, Dr. T'pring, and himself, upon which Soval would avert his gaze.

Illogical, yes, to avoid her contact, emotional, certainly. However there were occurrences, when logic was too, debilitating, to be maximized fully. Simply too painful, to possibly endure without jeopardizing its own stability.

Should he allow himself such indulgences, these lapses of control? That particular topic was subject to such amounts of controversy that Soval deemed it unwise to dwell on. He, himself personally limited his emotional tendencies with a stringent manner bordering on the obsessive.

For those who fell too deep the path of passion, only madness did await.

Disturbing as it was, Commander T'pol, an esteemed and respected member of Vulcan society, one whose logic had withstood the trials of war and beyond, may have very well departed on that path.

The effects of Trellium-D, the horrors, so to speak, were among the few obstacles, that logic alone could not overcome. Soval had been at the debriefing, had witnessed the true fate of the Seleya, of its crew.

He would not shudder, nor shy from the responsibility should it befall him, the fate of T'pol, barbaric as it was, could not be argued.

She would either recover, restore herself with an aptitude possessed by few, or as Vulcan law dictated, she would die…

**Phlox's Perspective**:

The ensign ran a medical scanner over the length of his body, self-restraint, difficult as it was, kept his eyes from lingering on the device, lest he double the nausea.

Dizziness was the worst of it, disorientation had him floating up and above clouds, but the euphoric aspect to that metaphor? No, not to be found accompanying its sense of vertigo.

He could feel the skin on his face, contorting in its discomfort. For there was no pain, not precisely, just-

As if to finish his very sentence, the depths of the Doctor's stomach clenched, forcing him into a fetal position as pain, and definitely pain, lit up all through his body.

This continued, spasmodically. To look upon the Denobulan, one would see the stark difference in his demeanor. From the dazed, unreactive presence he had posed, just two minutes past. And to the present, doubled over on his side as moans of agony filled the room.

Phlox could see her, had eyes trained on the Ensign, yet her presence did not register within the tumulus boundaries his state did restrain him.

On a conscious level she was merely an object, one that happened to move about the room. A piece of sickbay that, for all Phlox could grasp, might as well have been non-existent. He did not sense his environment, it was safe, and that was all he needed to know, all that was necessary to lull him into sleep, the blackness to bring hope…


	37. Chapter 37

**General Shras's Perspective**:

He sat, reclined to a point almost horizontal in its laxation. His stance, if it could be defined as such, was melted into black cushion, body draped inert over leather.

The eyes, the white ovals contrasting with blue skin, did not move. Not even a twitch could be solicited from their empty vigil.

The entirety of his face was tilted, as if in deep thought. And yet, to look closer one might discover that intelligence, true or perceived, posed looks nigh the same.

A ringing most obscene in its pitch sounded through the room. The effect was to spoil an imperious stance, irritation evident on the General's face, his body tensed, halting the flow of sentient gel that had but moments ago inhabited his chair.

A smooth motion brought down his hand on the silver button, abruptly exchanging rings for words.

"-o General Shras, priority one message, respond immediately".

The monitor by his left side, sleek and black with little to no edging on borders, was situated so that even _it_ appeared torpid, (for an inanimate object no less) tilted back and angled unnecessarily that its presence was an insult to propriety itself.

With a flick of his wrist, the Empiric symbol upon the screen was replaced by the visage of-, Commander Tarah, he believed, yes-, yes indeed it was.

_She must have a report of their encounter with those bastard Vulcans_.

"General Sir!"

He shook his head, silently bubbling with mirth. The protocols, the seriousness of these military types, his position might be designated general, but even he knew it was purely a title, and nothing more.

"Commander" he acknowledged, nothing further as she continued staring at him, lips still closed.

Shras got the feeling that he was being assessed, a smirk almost made it to his face as he considered all the beings who had (more likely than not) quailed under those eyes. But while he might not have earned his position, he certainly knew how to hold it.

And so he did not puff out his chest, and he didn't continue the conversation. Shras simply returned her gaze, waiting, until her patience eventually ran out.

"General" she began again, "I have urgent news concerning our assignment."

At this Shras did not hesitate to jump in, having had already won their battle of wills, after all. "As I recall, you were ordered to intercept the T'khut."

His tone, to the casual observer, appeared to simply state facts. However there was no question as to whose career depended on those orders.

"I am assuming, based on our conversation, that you were successful?" For not the first time he was left wondering why it wasn't Shran talking to him.

_He's probably too drunk to know what a report is, after that victory of theirs_.

"We were not successful, General".

At that he tensed, attention brought solely to the woman on his monitor as his mind concocted all sorts of explanations, none of them in the least bit positive.

"Elaborate" he snapped, the word lashing from his mouth.

"Our fight with the Vulcan ship was interrupted by an alien vessel, they claim their race is "Human"."

_Damn her, how difficult can it be to continues speaking_?! At this rate it would be tomorrow before he had the vaguest idea of what had happened.

"It might be effective to keep talking, _Commander_." The thinly veiled threat brought a glint of anger to Tarah's eye.

"They disabled both the Kumari and the T'khut, permitting neither side victory. They claim they want to establish a treaty between both Vulcan and Andor, however-" her voice trailed off.

"However _what_ Commander"

She took a light breath, almost unnoticeable, but not quite.

"They are weak, Sir, and not worthy of an alliance with the Empire."

Shras heard the pride in her voice, the very same patriotism to be found in the billions of their proud race, and in his opinion, a bit too proud.

"Well they obviously weren't if they disabled _both_ ships, yours included, Commander." It was practically a snarl, the way those words came out. Filled to the brim with contempt and irritation dripping from every syllable.

He could see her posture stiffen, antenna curled forward in an unmasked display of anger, despite her face's neutrality. "Yes Sir, their technological abilities are far beyond our own."

"_How_ far?" The General's fists clenched outside view of the screen, barely keeping himself from letting loose a tirade.

"I do not believe that information is necessary, Sir." The rank was added, as if an afterthought. In fact, the sarcasm laced through that word was not reassuring, most definitely not. That in itself was worrying, extremely so, Tarah had always been disrespectful, insubordinate even. But the unknown meaning Shras could detect in that word, trouble was brewing, that you could be assured of.

"Commander, you will continue your report immediately! With no information withheld!" It had happened, he could feel the burning freedom of outrage coursing through his veins.

_I am the general_!

And he wouldn't hesitate to make her life a living hell if she didn't start giving him the respect that demanded.

She was smirking now, observing her superior with amused eyes, pupils formed of malice. "I'm afraid you no longer have jurisdiction over this fleet, _General_, the Council Members themselves have taken a direct interest in these events. A fleet of Andorian battle cruisers is inbound to our position, to assist us in the destruction of the Human vessel. I assure you that further information will be released when the time is deemed appropriate." With that her visage disappeared, leaving once again the Empire's symbol in the center of his tilted screen.

Confusion and anger, extreme anger blinding in its intensity, clouded his mind. The explosion that had built up, seemingly contained, finally, in its rage, burst through any self-control a sentient being could possibly raise.

With a snarl blue hand descended on the nearest object, a vase was sent flying before it promptly shattered against the opposing wall, damaging the green paint ever so slightly.

His eyes, piercing in their rage, searched the vicinity. Franticly his gaze swept the room, anything upon which he could vent as his body leapt from its seat.

The mayhem that was his mind rioted through body and soul, its very own structure to do with as it pleased. One could not reason with the General's mind, not even himself in this condition. He was merely a voice, a small, insignificant whisper among the tyrants of chaos who ruled.

_Pain, pain helps_.

With a speed born of desperation legs carried him to the other side of the room, dropping to his knees and his fist, quivering, as if in fear of its own fate, before Shras drove it into the shards.

Again and again he punched the sharpened remains, his once prized vase finding a home in the blue skin that attacked it.

His screams grew louder, continuing in melody with the sobs that wracked his frame, alternating, sometimes mixing, combining to form such foul concoctions.

The agony brought, in some semblance, clarity. The very same clarity of which he had sought, what he continued to seek as his fist connected brutally with the glass.

As the haze was partially lifted, a need filled his mind, conquered it, devoured it in exigency.

_Must, have it_!

Clutching the damaged hand to his chest, Shras attached himself to the plain green wall. His good arm, without shards of glass embedded inside, scraped its way up the surface, tainting the simple color with the blue stain of his leaking blood.

As his life essence oozed to the floor, the general was to be found stumbling, grabbing a hold of anything in his path, strength depleted to the point of his own inability to stand.

_So close_!

Yes, he was nearing that which he sought, what he craved, what he needed!

The next pattern of mismatched steps, finally arriving at the small portrait, where he flung it off the wall in his staggering manner, barely keeping balance as the shaking limbs threw it to the side.

And yet despite the quivering of his entire self, the digits were steady as they punched in his security code. As they finished, and the metal frame slid open Shras reached his hand inside, grasping one of the hypo-sprays loaded with enough illegal drugs to put him in a brig for life.

But nothing else besides the salvation in his palm mattered to the crazed General, and so he raised it to his neck while tears flowed down the blue face, dripping softly onto the metal container.

As it emptied its contents into his bloodstream, a sigh of pure bliss accompanied him, on his slumped journey to the floor…


	38. Chapter 38

**Medical Assistants' Perspective**:

As ordered by the Lieutenant, Mary was currently running _another_, high level neuro scan of their newly minted captain. That made four, yes, _four_ very complicated, very intricate, and very damn stressing cat scans.

"Ensign, has the-"

_Oh for God's sake_.

"Yes Sir, the fourth scan is finishing up now." The tell-tale swish of the sickbay doors had slipped right past her notice.

To her headache's relief, the Lieutenant simply nodded and walked away, heading towards the decon chamber.

She could tell how she sounded, but in her bored (and not to mention _extremely_ irritated) state, not even her thoughts could escape the disrespectfulness directed with pointed finger towards a certain superior officer.

Forget disrespectful, she was being downright insubordinate.

A snort made its way out, while a twisted mirth continued to burrow deep inside her brain.

Once again she thought of the Captain, who, at this very moment, lay lifeless in his curtained bio-bed.

A shiver ran down her spine, such, anxiety, the playing's of fear at work. Fear that they wouldn't make it through without him, fear that-.

Mary gulped, attempting to swallow the pain that threatened to lease itself upon her mind.

_I can do this, I must_.

Yes, she must admit it, at least, to herself. Admit her mistakes-

_It wasn't a mistake_!

Her eyes widened, fingers grasping the counter edge with strength enough to morph white the slender digits.

The ferocity, the anger in that sudden burst of clarity, it-, it- felt, good. Yes! It made sense, she had merely ended an already doomed life, and spared herself the agony of watching her Captain die a slow, painful death.

_No_! _That isn't me_! _You can't just-, just end a life and be done with it_!

Her actions, while justifiable in whatever twisted portion of her mind, were apparently not without competition.

_I murdered him, you murdered him, enjoyed it as you activated that hypo-spray_!

A moan escaped her lips, "N-n-no, I di-,didn't enjoy it, I didn't enjoy it." She whispered against the tide of blackness, slowly enveloping her mind in its dark, angry clutches.

Eyes were clamped shut, she staggered back blindly as hands were clutched at her ears, desperately, trying to quell the rising voices in her skull.

_You did what you had to do_.

It-, the thing, was horrible, horrible! It was as if she could feel her heart blackening, slowly, methodically, as every moral standard she held dear crumbled before this onslaught.

Her vocal cords, try as they might to retain it, were left with no sense of strength, no purpose, emitting nothing but whimpers as her body connected with a thud against the unknown object.

Her shoulder protested sharply as it jammed into the surface, and yet still she didn't open her eyes. Beyond the sanctity of her lids lay a world of perspectives, one she had known the entirety of her life, a structure of joy and enthusiasm, the other, cold, unforgiving.

Mary did not want to see from that view, did not want to expose her memories, her _world_, to that darkness. She would not taint the remnants of sanity that still lingered in her mind, hiding themselves so as to escape the madness.

And so, as irony would have it, she kept herself in the darkness, eyes shut tight with only black to see.

Mary felt drained, she was drained, without a thought she slumped back, and didn't hear the swish of the sickbay doors.

She hit the floor hard, sprawled in the middle of the entrance with half her body inside the room, the other, out. However her form curled up, huddling knees to chest as sobs filled the hallway, tears streaming down from closed lids.

"I didn't enjoy it, I didn't en-enjoy-didn't enjoy it, I didn't enjoy it"…

_**(Sorry, I know this isn't very action filled, but rest assured it is all part of the buildup, remember, the Andorian fleet is on its way!)**_


	39. Chapter 39

**Reed's Perspective**:

Commander Tucker lay silent, his head propped slightly against the chamber wall.

Blue light emanated from the ceiling, casting a sickly pallor throughout the room. It seemed to meld skin and metal, its color dominating the pigments, grey into blue, pink into blue, until all seemed to flow in an unending river.

"Well if it isn't the cavalry."

_Better make that a pissed off river_.

"Commander, your final neuro scans are almost complete."

It was eerie, the stark change in his manner seemed almost-, well, Malcom honestly didn't know what it meant. But their southern commander was not a calm man, and they had two hours worth of video to prove it.

Now he just sat there, body completely still except-,

_Ah, yes that comment probably wasn't too intelligent_.

His head had turned, shifted slightly towards the Lieutenant as fire seemed to burn in his eyes.

"_Final_, scans?" The words came out growled, the engineer's lips twitched and his face reddened, an ugly visage replacing the highest portion of his body.

_I really shouldn't have said that_.

The thin glass separating them, a material likely to withstand multiple phaser rounds, was nowhere near enough protection for the British officer. Try as he might to appear unfazed, the Lieutenant's body fell upon a most irritating habit, he fidgeted.

Malcom praised the force, be it god or galaxy, that looked over him, because whomever or whatever they were, not many would dare to get in the way of an angry Tucker.

"Just how many scans did you take?"

At least he wasn't looking at him now, the Commander's eyes had been averted along with the rest of his head, tilted at the floor as large hands kneaded the sleep deprived face.

"Ensign-"

"I _said_, how many scans did you take, _Lieutenant_?"

_Ah bloody hell_.

He was of half a mind to just ignore the question, maybe make a run for it. But-

Oh god, there was that face again, unveiled from its calm countenance the explicit rage had returned.

"Four, Sir." Strength was present, not in him, but at least his voice could maintain its dignity.

Technically, their chief engineer had been relieved of duty on a medical basis, however he doubted that would stop such an impending torture, as was most likely forefront in Trip's mind.

Malcom's face contorted, frowning at that particular image.

_What on earth is wrong with me_?

A quick shake of his head, surprisingly enough, cleared fractionally the distorted clutter of thoughts whirling about in his brain.

Why was he so, jumpy? Ever since this damn "thing" had started, since this "alternate timeline", since the extermination of humanity-

_Jesus Christ_!

He couldn't help it, it was just so-, so-,

_Unfair_!

A faint smile worked its way onto his face, a moment of pure, unadulterated, perverse, and most assuredly crazy, euphoria.

With the mirth of a dying man he chuckled, simply chuckled, at the absurdity of chance.

"Something funny?" the coldness in Tucker's tone did nothing to sway his sudden bout of madness. In fact, the volume of his laughs rose, forcing his head against the glass while his hands, bunched into fists, repeatedly smacked the barrier, completely lost in the hilarity bombarding him.

It continued, vibrations coursed through the body with increasing intensity, until he was left clutching at his chest, heaving with the exertion.

A final gasp of laughter escaped his mouth, stumbling back to the wall opposite he slumped into a sitting position, hands grasping his face in an attempt to stifle the giggles that threatened his rapidly calming mind.

And as Lieutenant Reed sat there, a clock, while not in this room, kept on ticking…


	40. Chapter 40

**Tucker's Perspective**:

He was, laughing.

Malcom Reed, _Lieutenant_ Reed, probably the most unemotional human yet to exist. The kind of un-fun guy made solely to ruin a person's day, and then some.

The man would literally quote regulations to the Captain(as if T'pol couldn't handle it herself), and somehow find the time to put crewmen on report for the most insignificant of oversights.

At that particular memory he scowled, _I would've told the Cap'n eventually_.

But seriously, it was as if he were a robot, 'Protocol says this, I'll have to confirm those orders with Starfleet, crew efficiency has dropped point four percent-'

and on and on and on. The man was like a damn Vulcan.

Trip had tried, on numerous occasions, to merely crack a smile from the tactical officer, he'd always assumed it'd be easier than with T'pol at the very least.

_Not to say I haven't tried that too_.

But now-

Once again his thoughts were interrupted, Malcom falling into his umpteenth fit of giggles, hysterically banging his fist on the floor.

And on his face, invisible to all but the deepest scrutiny was-

What? What was that look, that expression, vision?

Trip could see it, that he knew, catch glimpses of it, zoom in on it, spy it for the millisecond it shone bright, and yet despite it all he just couldn't identify that damn look.

Another sound wafted through the room, and _once again_, Trip was left praying for a speaker malfunction.

_The man could've shut it off __**before**__ he decided to go insane_.

Trip shuddered, it, the sound-, thing- whatever the hell it was, just kept on getting worse. Right now it was making as if to be some demented form of cackle, the inner workings of which held no appeal for the likes of an engineer.

It was hard to hear ones thoughts amongst the racket five feet away, and yet continually he would find himself slipping deeper into the depths of his brain, an abyss of mind, just waiting for him to trip over the brink.

With a grunt of bared frustration he leaned back, head smacking against the blue tinged wall, a dull thud accompanying as he made a pillow in the cold steel.

It lay there, still, for a precious few moments of silence.

Truth be told, this was getting a little, extreme, to say the least. Like maybe a few chuckles would have been okay, but, _this_?

In his mind a man waved arms, encompassing the entire universe to emphasize his point.

_Okay, times up, I'm not listening to this for another second_.

The laughing had returned with backlash, reaching a pitch indescribable in its torture.

A growl escaped the engineer's mouth as he stood, slowly. Using the wall for support he made his way onto the flat of his feet, and turned.

What he saw, the basic terror that filled him as their eyes met, was blood freezing.

The look in those eyes, that face, now he _knew_ what that look was, and believe God, he wished he'd never learned.

His stomach churned, eyes widened, skin turned ghost white.

Insanity, that was the only feature present on Malcom Reed's face.

His eyes, obscured from view by the contorted mass of skin, blended red from lack of oxygen it was almost impossible to spy the crazed pupils darting around the room, searching, calculating. As only three inches below their sinister whites a mouth lay gaping, open constantly as unintelligible sounds poured from its depths.

Trip shuddered, the- unnaturalness, yes, far from any semblance of normal, the look on the Lieutenant's face, the whole body, he just radiated wave upon wave of-, something that wasn't regular.

_And that's a __**really**__ polite way of putting it._

The eyes had fallen on him, and lingered.

Maybe it was because this was the first time they had stopped, or maybe the cause was a plain case of apprehension under scrutiny, but Trip had a pretty good idea of what was bothering him, and it wasn't any of the above.

The gaze fixed on him sent a shiver of fear down his back, a feeling of being closed in with nowhere to run. It was predatory, a look like that could stop an earthquake in its tracks, and sure enough, the laughing did stop. Leaving those eyes with a couple companions on Reed's face, all of them screaming malice.

Trip gulped, but in his ears a gong sounded, as if he had personally invited all his fears and nightmares to partake in this horrid scene.

Part of him was frozen to the spot, a fraction of his brain captivated by fear, fascinated by the sensations of terror he could glean from merely looking into Reed's eyes.

However self-preservation had its own "method" in dealing with situations similar. And true to form Trip, as quietly and slowly as he could, shrunk back to the farthest corner. His body was tensed as if to run at a moment's notice, despite the fact of his confinement.

Reed never missed a beat, eyes clinging to Trip as the rest of his body lay still in its awkward position against the floor.

Every movement was followed, but within a matter of minutes the Tactical Officer untangled himself, standing up and dusting himself off, he shot Trip a withering glance, before promptly exiting his line of vision.

Trip let loose a breath, his lungs having ceased exactly twelve painful seconds ago, but now that Reed was gone, he found his breathing did not calm down, in fact it was becoming more erratic.

_I need to get out of here_.

And hopefully before the Lieutenant returned.

His gaze made its way around the Decon chamber, slowly, carefully, if he was gonna make it out of here he'd need more than brute force alone.

Making his way to a panel Trip set to work, almost wishing he had a chronometer, but then again, he already knew time was running out…


	41. Chapter 41

**Reed's Perspective**:

A small distance from Decon laid the main area of sickbay, a room with soft, white pillows, and colorful decorations to be found random. A room where the hordes of crewmen would come to complain about whatever their superficial "injuries" consisted of. In between however, was a completely different matter.

In the stretch from those locations was a hallway, a hallway known by its numerous travelers, by the men and women who had walked its length, without the kindness and care of sickbay. Its atmosphere was one of dread for the people whose fate had not been in lucks hand.

When required, the Decon Chamber had a second usage, a perfectly clean, sterile space, for the dead that could be recovered.

It was in this mini corridor which Lieutenant Reed found himself, stalking across the yards. His back was hunched slightly, and with the manner of his slow, tentative steps, Reed struck the pose of a man ready for action.

A whisper through the air, and his body set flying into motion. Neck snapped around as he dropped to a steady crouch, the rest of his frame quickly whirling to follow its head.

_Nothing_.

With an indiscernible mutter, its connotation more a growl than anything else, he gave the area one last survey, before returning to his forward path.

First things first, he had to eliminate Tucker. The crew would no doubt have some foolish notions of loyalty regarding the southerner.

For Malcom Reed was no fool, he knew that an open confrontation would end in Tucker's favor, the damn man had a way of winning people over.

_Not to mention he's my superior officer_.

A snarl erupted on his face, contorting the already creased lines.

_He is not superior!_

Reed didn't give a damn about rank, not even the real meaning of that title. To the concepts of his crazed mind he could only understand one word, and only one meaning.

_He is __**not**__ superior!_

The urge to slam the wall, to kick and scream in indignation and screech his truths to the universe, it was strong. His body shook with restrained energy, the vibrations flowing to the tips of his fingers as in stark contrast, below the Englishman's waist twitched nothing.

It would be so simple, just to let his arm lash out- just-, pound the wall until his hands were blue and knuckles bled-, he could just-

_No! _

He couldn't alert his enemies, they were somewhere, just waiting to spring out and take advantage of his weakness.

With a sudden twitch he glanced behind him, eyes searching the vicinity with deadly precision, glaring around the corridor as if to stare down its silver colored walls.

Yes, when the cowards showed themselves he would be ready. An iron will, taking grip of his mind quelled the shaking in his upper body. Fists bunched viciously, fingernails clawing at themselves as arms lay rigid at his sides.

_I have to conserve my strength_.

Yes, but he was stronger than them, and while his brain worked, and his body crept closer to sickbay, a feral grin took place on his features and eyes glazed over.

_I am stronger than __**him**__, stronger than Tucker, and he __**will**__ know it at the moment of his death_…


	42. Chapter 42

**Reed's Perspective**:

The doors to sickbay, the ones containing this hall of mortality, slid open to reveal its pristine white surface displayed across the entirety.

Before a second could pass he was through the gateway, leaving Tucker behind, trapped inside that darkness while he himself escaped to the bright haven outside.

The very walls resonated with joy and safety, and a relieved sigh came jagged from the depths of his throat.

He was out of there, had made it before his own resolve could crumble underneath that constant barrage of- of-

_Dammit_!

The resources of his rage, his pain, emptied by the lifted burdens as he exited that corridor connecting to the morgue, returned full force in their brutality, fueling the primal instincts of ages past.

With a strangled cry he rammed his foot into the bulkhead, all pent up energy forcing itself into that one kick.

"Arrhh-!"

He bit down viciously, silencing the tongue as blood pooled in his mouth and the bitter taste could barely be recognized amongst his conflicting sensations.

His hands clutched uselessly at the raised foot while he stood on a single quivering leg, hopping from time to time to correct its tilting. Unbalanced as he was, the Lieutenant soon ran out of luck, falling backwards as arms flailed franticly, searching for any support they might find.

His body landed with a thud on the cold floor, head smacking into the material with a sickening crack as he yelped at the sudden loss of balance.

He laid still, systems trying to cope with the abrupt fall and the pain quickly numbing in the back of his skull.

_Bloody hell_.

But within his semi-functioning brain time couldn't afford to be wasted. One groan later his frame had flipped onto its stomach, and was clawing at the floor with both hands.

Faintly he recognized something dripping down his face, curiosity bounced through him, but weariness eventually won the battle, and the springy ball of wonder was left to roll tiredly.

A lifetime of crawling, reaching hand after hand across the ground with painstaking slowness. And just as the feeling of hopelessness took over, that it was futile to even try, another surface, a counter, came within reach.

He didn't know whether to clap or scream, and so with a moan, indistinguishable for either he lifted his arms.

Steady hands dragged their way towards the top, scraping against the metal, leaning for any handhold as huffs of exertion pounded the air.

With a grunt the first elbow latched itself aboard the top, followed by his black haired head, panting as quivering legs struggled to uphold themselves.

As he leaned there with blood dripping to the counter top, weary head tucked into his forearms and body slowly drooping back to its knees, he heard something.

It was so quite his ears had to strain just to identify it, it was-, crying, someone crying.

Malcom lifted his face from the peaceful oblivion between his arms, searching from side to side with lids half closed.

_Goddamn_.

Whatever the reason, he felt drawn to it, as if his bloody purpose in life revolved around that sound, that crying.

His body might just as well have been lying atop that medical counter, and in fact the upper part of it was, even his legs managed to use it for support, somehow angled against its plastic in a way that stopped their shaking.

_Take a breath, now a deep one_.

Silent commands completed, Malcom launched off his lifeline. Abandoning himself to the treacherous sea where no other counter or bio-bed was to be found.

Stumbling steps dragged him around the corner, lurching in every direction as he staggered about the room.

Forwards.

Backwards.

To the left.

More backwards.

Far to the right.

The added dizziness was enough to sicken him, and the pounding in his skull didn't help either.

His chin was pressed into the collar of his uniform, head lolling in whatever direction he happened to tilt to, a living rag doll with a mind barely its own.

On a whim he raised it, eyes widened and mouth hung open as the object of his search appeared right before him, magical in her presence.

She was lying crumpled between the main sickbay doors, hands over her eyes as a stream of tears flowed underneath her palms.

Malcom's face tilted, as if seeing her through an angle would make the picture before him clearer.

She was collapsed, defeated, frazzled, unintelligible, she was-

"Beautiful" he whispered it, the awe unmistakable in his voice as eyelids continued to recede, the visible whites increasing in size.

Dropping to his knees he had to stabilize himself, almost losing balance in the descent. He reached out his hands, placing them softly on the Ensign's tear reddened face, stroking a loose strand of hair as his fingers moved downwards, splaying around her collared neck.

She didn't react to his touch, and with his eyes wide open and his breathing steady, Malcom tightened his grip on the woman's throat before a quick jerk of his hands-

And he effectively snapped her neck.

His face remained in its position, not a muscle moved as he gazed in fascination at the lifeless, tear stained face of Ensign Mary…


	43. Chapter 43

**General Shras's Perspective**:

It was wearing off.

The hallucinogens he had ragefully injected, his medicine, his source of demons, were rapidly losing effect.

However it was not to the point of clarity, not yet.

He could feel the sense of, sense, beginning what was bound to be a long, strenuous task of purging the filth from his mind.

He could feel the return of care, simply _caring_, about anything in the known universe.

Yes, he could feel himself starting to re-inhabit the shell, devoid of his presence fo-

A frown contorted the General's blue face.

_For_-

His head tilted slightly, antenna curling to the side.

_For however damn long I've been drugged_.

A raspy snort escaped his parched throat, and the upward tilt of his lips was quickly lost to a fit of hacking coughs.

His blue neck convulsed with each skull pounding bark, and before long he was lost amongst the storm of his own throat. Hawking sharply and wheezing in what little air he could before another series of coughs expelled the precious oxygen.

Eventually it died down, leaving an extremely flustered General lying on the carpeted floor, completely still except for the deep, drawn out breaths he managed to suck in one by one.

With both hands he propped himself, up slightly off the ground as his breathing began to stabilize.

_What on Andor happened_?

Start, he was confused, but with a jolt Shras scrambled his way off the floor, images flooding his mind into an ocean of remembrance while he shuddered at the explosive recall.

_I have to stop them_.

Those fools at Command would literally be the death of Andoria.

_I have to stop __**her**_.

Yes, no doubt Tarah had gone to great measures to sway her superiors.

He grimaced, this wasn't going to be easy, especially if the council had voted. But Shras got the impression this wasn't a matter for democracy, and Tarah wasn't the only one who could call in a few favors.

As the General made his way to the desk, unsteady as he was, and could only think of one thing.

_I hope I'm not too late_…


	44. Chapter 44

**Sphere Builder's Perspective(s)**:

"The number of favorable outcomes has diminished."

"The humans will prevail, it has been seen."

"The timelines are prone to fluctuation, we should not assume anything."

A pause, uncommon in this limbo from time and space, lasted for what could have been one year or one second. However that trifle concern was beyond such beings as existed in this place.

"The virus is spreading, Reed must not be allowed to command the Earth vessel."

"The humans will prevail, Tucker will prevail."

"We will make the necessary changes"…

**Tucker's Perspective**:

With aching muscles he raised his arm, attempting to dry off the perspiration that collected in pools at the tip of his hairline.

As he let the limb fall away, slumped and lifeless at his side it drooped, and kept on drooping until the allowance of movement his shoulder permitted had run out.

And so he was left to suffer in agony while every molecule in his arms, in his body, strained against the inevitable victory of gravity, putting off the penance only to worsen his odds.

_Goddamn_.

The anger had long since faded, and with it went his strength, his energy, everything that had fueled Trip Tucker for those hours upon end.

He might have been glad, rejoicing at his return to clarity and common sense. But right now he could seriously do with some solid, untamed rage.

_Some sleep wouldn't hurt either_.

Sleep, when had he last slept? Not for a while anyway, after waking up in sickbay he'd been knocked out again, by one of his own crew no less.

At that memory he scowled, and pure, unbridled rage did find a place in his heart, but not for long. She was just a girl, couldn't have been more than nineteen, and they, _everyone_ aboard the Enterprise, was dealing with a hell of a lot.

And besides, he wasn't always the easiest guy to be around, whatever her name she deserved a freaking commendation just for following procedure and putting up with an angry engineer.

_Anger, yes I could really use some of that_.

But for all the damn injustices contained within his memory nothing could seem to piss him off, at least not for longer than a few seconds.

Trip sighed, again.

He was just tired, sad, not to mention his continued fear of Mr. Crazy guy with a first class security clearance code, and who also happened to be in command of the entire ship.

He snorted, a guttural, horse like sound that hurt the depths of his dehydrated throat.

_Forget fear, I'm terrified of that-, 'thing'_.

Trip's mind, lost in his thoughts, had left the body to deal with its own troubles, a fight that never stood a chance.

He stumbled, before the re-entering of his brain and he caught himself, sort of.

Planted face first into the wall his hands groped at the cold steel, sliding time and time again in his struggle against the laws of physics.

_Why fight this_?

Why indeed.

And before that thought could finish his frame had finished its descent down the metal wall, where Trip Tucker could be found in a pile, sleeping peacefully upon the floor.


	45. Chapter 45

**Soval's Perspective**:

The bridge of the T'khut, having been returned to its undamaged condition, was indeed, a much more logical environment in which to command a starship.

One could not detect a rise in crew efficiency, at least not statistically. However the general, mood, dare he say, was most assuredly benefitting from an open area to conduct vessel operations.

For as much as Vulcans were prone to declare their superiority, they themselves did indeed need the occasional creature comfort in order to maintain their logical sequence of thoughts. A statement you would rarely hear repeated among his kind.

"Captain, I am detecting a subspace transmission."

His chair shifted slightly to accommodate the required line of vision. "Humans?"

As his eyebrow raised expectantly at the Lieutenant, he wondered the possible lapse that could have resulted in him increasing the brevity of his speech. This was not the first incident, and if he continued the illogical method a misunderstanding was bound to occur.

"Negative Captain, it is an Andorian frequency." Reported Lieutenant-

Soval blinked, his memory appearing to have failed him.

_Most odd_.

Yes, yes indeed. It was not often he was unable to recall-, anything. As children Vulcans underwent severe methods in order to ensure their mental resources would not fail them without due cause.

"Shall I decode the message Captain?"

With a mental jerk his attention shifted back to the present, where he himself was met with an expectant eyebrow not his own, the Lieutenant's studious eyes trained upon him.

"Affirmative, proceed."

Within his mind Soval eyed the lack of control, curiously, however this was not the time to dwell on a simple error, no doubt further meditation would be required.

His thoughts, refocused on the outer world were-, astounding.

Soval sucked in a deep breath, for once not caring the presence of his crew.

When his eyes began to take in the surroundings again, released from his analysis it was as if he could see-

A mental snapshot, viewed from the yet unaffected region of his brain Soval halted that line of thought, methodically, logically, stripped it down to its bare essentials and discarded the rampant flow of emotions.

_It would appear that I should report to sickbay_.

Yes, because even after the positive outcome of that event, inside, hidden where even he was unable to find it, Soval could not help but feel fear…

**Tarah's Perspective**:

Repairs had proceeded quickly, surprisingly enough neither the Humans nor Vulcans had done or said anything since the escape of Shran and that Pinkskin.

A perfect scenario to say the least, soon the entire Sixth Fleet would arrive, and at this news Tarah couldn't help but feel a certain, childish, joy.

Sure, a childish joy that had to do with the slaughtering of an enemy and the technological advancement of the Andorian Empire. But happiness was happiness, however you put it.

_Not to mention my own-, personal, interests_.

Oh yes, she would acclaimed a hero of the empire, receive a state of the art Battle Cruiser, and getting off this bucket of bolts in the process.

A twisted smirk worked its way onto her face, a common occurrence in recent days.

_This is going to be good_…


End file.
